


Pareo: Obey

by kateofallpeople



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curses, F/M, Guilty Conscience, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Imperius, Light BDSM, Post - Deathly Hallows, Prefect Duty, Sexual Content, tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateofallpeople/pseuds/kateofallpeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the final battle, Hermione is hit with a spell forcing her to obey all commands. Shortly after, the caster dies but the spell remains. While returning to Hogwarts for her last year, how long can she hide this secret? And once a certain Slytherin knows, how far will he go with what he knows?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had happened in an instant, really. And it was over even sooner than it had started. Well, she said over - the spell hadn't faded.

_Pareo!_

She recognized the spell from a brief study of Latin - it meant _obey_. She'd never had the Imperius curse put on her, but she assumed that it felt a little like this had. They came from the same family of spells, the same linguistic origin. But Pareo was old magic - something she'd only heard of once, and only in passing. She hadn't been able to find out much about it, despite a longer study on spell groups and origins.

But the spell hit her, all the same.

Despite the fact that she was in the middle of a massive battle, despite the fact that she'd just seen Fred die minutes before and that she'd witnessed so much gore and sadness tonight... she felt a sudden comfort. Peace, almost. None of it had mattered anymore - she wasn't in control. It was out of her hands. She felt herself stepping forwards, raising her wand. Ron was so close, she thought she could probably hit him from here. She heard a voice in her head - a whisper, neither male nor female, or maybe both at once.

_Kill him._

And kill him, she tried. But the jet of green missed Ron by half a foot - she'd never had the best aim - and once she'd turned again to try, she felt the release of control, a seizing in her chest. She looked around, stunned. What had she just tried to do? She looked towards Ron, who was none the wiser - he was caught in a duel with a brute of a Death Eater. She turned again to see a body fall - a frail, older man hidden under a hood and cloak, his arm outstretched in her direction, and what was unmistakably an Auror rushing off away from him. It had been the Death Eater to cast _Pareo_ , she was sure of it, and it had been the Auror who had killed the Death Eater and left without a work. She didn't like the feeling. Someone had had control over her. She'd almost done the most unspeakable, awful thing she could think of. Without hesitating another moment, she turned on her heel and dashed up the stairs, past Ron, catching his attention. The two of them brought down the Death Eater and Hermione rushed to Ron's side, eager to get out of the thickest part of the battle. He gestured for her to follow him, whispered a half-formed plan. She followed. As long as it got her away from what had just happened, it was for the better.

* * *

_Four Months Later..._

It was the quietest start-of-term feast any of them had ever experienced. For the first years, it must have been a frightful day - leaving home, where they might have finally started to feel comfortable again, to go to Hogwarts, where the terrifying war from the year before had come to a gruesome close. Their only saving grace was that they hadn't known Hogwarts as the bright, cheery, amazing place that it had been before. Families had lost many - there were symbolic empty seats wherever they could be fit around tables in the hall. Not that there were many - due to the lack of educational substance in the previous year, all students had been sent a letter requesting their return for a repeat of that year's schooling. Some chose not to attend, many stayed home and were taught by their parents, but a large portion of students returned.

Not that it was all solemn - on the train, many students were reunited with their friends after a particularly quiet summer. Most parents didn't allow their children out on their own anymore, even those in their seventh (now eighth) year. Molly Weasley seemed to be the exception, and in fact let all people who had wandered after the war, come to find solace in her gnome-filled yard and the upper bedrooms of the Burrow. Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville had all spent the summer there - consoling each other some days, laughing and celebrating their freedom the next. Ron had been by her side constantly, though the definition of the relationship between them varied. Some days they were just best friends as they had always been, but some nights he kissed her with a tenderness she'd never felt before, held her close, and brought her to bed with him, not releasing her until morning. (Not that he'd had to convince her otherwise, she stayed in his bed for the warmth and comfort and, at times, the physical contact as well.) The general outlook of the wizarding community was like that for four long months - half in mourning, half in celebration that they still had who and what they had at all.

To the mild shock of most, Hogwarts letters were mailed on time and with their usual wax stamp and promise of routine and stone walls. Some met the letter with horror, some with delight. Hermione had been among the latter, surprisingly along with both Harry and Ron. Neither wanted to stew in their sadness alone at the Burrow, and so both had resigned to coming back to school and trying to learn something of use to do with their next few years or until they could start Auror training, whichever came first. Hermione immediately accepted, halfway because she _needed_ to know how many NEWTs she would receive. It was an important factor in the futures of all witches and wizards, war or not.

But the nearly jovial sense of reunion and companionship on the train had ceased as soon as it reached Hogwarts station. Parts of a high tower were still missing - thankfully one without anything dreadfully important inside, just a few classrooms and a spare astronomy tower that rarely went used - but the altered silhouette of the castle stunned most of the students on board into silence. The cheery face of their groundskeeper, Hagrid, was the only happy thing in sight besides the stars.

Hermione had been jerked back to reality by Harry muttering to her. _"Hermione, hand me my bag."_ Without a word she'd reached over and hooked the strap around her hand, passing it to him. It was in her usual nature to do things such as this, but that wasn't the case anymore.

 _Pareo!_ It rang out in her head sometimes, in her dreams. At odd times. Whenever anyone asked her to do something and, as usual, she obliged. In the years before this curse she'd have done most of those things anyway - helped Molly around the house, gone with Ron to get new robes with part of his reward from his work in the war, de-gnomed the garden for the guests that had set up a small camp outside the Burrow, mend Harry's broken glasses on half a dozen occasions. Only now, she couldn't say no. She had done as much research as she could without alerting anyone to why, but had come up short. There was little written history or information about magic as old as this, and she doubted she could go around asking much about it without someone suspecting that she'd heard it in some serious context, let alone that it was affecting her even now, four months later.

She was drawn back to the present moment and the start of term feast by Ron, who had lightly nudged her with his elbow, his mouth full of chicken. 

"'Mione? Can you pass the salt?"

She rolled her eyes, feeling her hand already raising to meet his request. Not that she was fighting it - she'd have said yes anyway, which made these sort of directions almost forgettable. She'd tried to resist these simplest of urges for a while - to say no - but found that her body would force her to do whatever it was anyway, and that on the nights she did try to fight it she would find herself fatigued or ill. She found it best to just give into it when asked a simple request. If she sensed something coming on that she specifically didn't want to do, she'd interrupt a sentence or change the subject, but had only had to resort to that once or twice, like when Molly had begun to insist that she and Hermione go into town just the two of them. A 'girl's day out', she'd called it. Not that Hermione didn't like Molly, of course, but Hermione herself was far from the type of girl that would enjoy window shopping and that sort of thing.

She passed the salt to her right, moved her arm back into place (and felt Ron's hand slide down to rest on her thigh), and listened to the cacophony of clinking silverware, plates, and goblets as the feast continued and then drew to a slow, clanking close. McGonagall stood, then - looking like she truly belonged at the head of the hall - and gave her speech, to a round of rousing applause. She spoke of the new year, and of a new Hogwarts. Houses would, for the most part, be abolished. Though they would all remain sorted and be sorted still, their dormitories would be the only thing that would remain strictly sorted by gender. Their Quidditch teams, classes, hall tables, schedules, and etcetera would all become mixed-house. Their dormitories would be arranged by signing up in lists, no longer even segregated by year for the purpose of allowing mixed-year and mixed-house siblings and friends to keep each other comfortable and in good company after their trying previous year.

Shortly after the meal, students dashed around to organize themselves into dormitories. Hermione found herself in roughly the same arrangement as before, with Lavender and Parvati clinging to each other. Padma joined them now, ushering Hermione over. Together they made four. Lastly, Hermione saw Ginny standing in the middle of a crowd with a rather scared sort of look on her face, and broke away to bring her into the group and round off their dormitory. Once the list was approved by McGonagall (who wanted no nonsense as far as boys and girls attempting to dorm together and was having quite the time shouting at a group of younger Slytherins who had tried) they walked through the halls of Hogwarts and up towards Gryffindor tower. It was still the place that four of them felt most comfortable in the castle, and Padma admitted she'd always wanted to belong there as well. All seemed perfect until they climbed through the portrait-hole. Hermione went through first and immediately ran smack into a tall, hard body with pale hair. _No._

"Granger... fancy meeting you here. Thought I'd like a change of scenery this year... Gryffindor tower is much roomier than the dungeons were. I'm assuming you know my roommates - Blaise Zabini, Zacharias Smith, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Kieran Harper. A good band of abandoners, aren't we?" The group behind him chuckled as Hermione pulled herself up from the floor, eyes trained on Draco's.

"Abandoned fighting for the good of the wizarding world, did you? Good for you. The rest of us made something of ourselves and did the right thing!"

He sneered, stepping towards her. "I could have done the 'right' thing according to my father and the Dark Lord and stayed in the war and torn your pretty little head off, but I had other motives. I'd rather be _here_ than Azkaban any day."

She glowered at him despite seeing some truth in his word. In no way did it make up for his awful character from the previous seven years, but it would at least keep her from attempting to toss him out of the tower tonight. Harry and Ron walked quickly towards them, finally seeing the disturbance, but Hermione held out her hand. She could manage on her own.

"Move, Draco. There are students trying to get through the portrait hole and into their dormitories and you're blocking the way."

"Oh, but I'm not. _Your_ pert little arse is the one in the way, isn't it? Go on, scurry upstairs and wait for your girlfriends."

She felt her body shift away from the portrait hole. He had ordered her to move - not asked her, not suggested. He'd told her to go upstairs and wait. She felt her feet move, but turned her head as she walked.

"Anything, as long as it gets me farther from you." She trudged up the stairs and to the highest open door in the tower, thankfully unclaimed by younger students who probably had yet to decide who to room with. She sat on the center bed, crossed her legs, and listened carefully for the sounds of footsteps coming up the last stretch of stairs. She knew they'd ask - she knew they'd want to know why she gave in so easily, why she'd left the Gryffindor common room that she'd known and loved. And she'd have to feed them the lie she had created - because she was tired. Because she was frustrated. And because it sounded like a much better idea than getting expelled on her first day for causing immense bodily harm to Draco Malfoy.

* * *

The following few days and nights went on similarly to the first. Classes began, and though mixed-house classes were something to behold at first, their novelty soon wore off. Class was still class, homework was still homework, and only in the later hours of the night, as students gathered around to work on essays and study did the animosity between Draco's dorm mates and Harry's - and by some extension, Hermione's as well - lessen. In fact, in these later hours, most resigned to hardly notice each other at all. She missed the camaraderie that had existed before in this common room, but hadn't expected the same raucous happiness this year anyway. It was a change, nothing more. And things were changing still. 

Hermione found herself obeying more and more. At times, when a question was asked in class - usually if it was phrased in the form of 'Tell me, what would happen if...' - she didn't even have time to put her hand up before the answer slipped or sprang from her mouth, rolling off her tongue and into the classroom before she could think twice. It wasn't as if too many of her classmates noticed this - she'd always been the know-it-all. But answering without following proper classroom etiquette was unlike her - she might have to try and work on this, if she were able to do so without passing out or making herself sick.

Towards the end of the last day of classes for the week, Hermione was dragging her bag back from Potions. She'd agreed to carry back Padma's books because she'd left early feeling ill and Lavender and Parvati had Care of Magical Creatures that afternoon instead of a study period. Padma, apparently, carried all of her books around, but as soon as Lavender had said 'Hermione can take her books back, she's got a free period after' the urge grew until she simply picked them up and slipped them into the small spare space in her bag. It wasn't even a direct order, it wasn't fair! But it was implied, in a conversation right next to her, and that was apparently enough for the curse. It seemed to be getting worse at times, and yet other days it would seem she could manage to get by on doing the bare minimum that a notion suggested.

Running into Draco Malfoy for the second time ruined that thought.

"Move it, Granger. I've got a class to go to."

Her next step went sideways instead of forwards - damn this curse! She'd have loved to have stayed in his way in the narrow corridor and made him late for class. Instead she pressed up against the stone wall, bag clutched in hand, and let him pass. He snickered, turning over his shoulder to toss another line at her.

"And apologize to your superiors, freak."

In a little voice - well, little compared to her usual annoyed tone with him, but loud enough for him to hear it a few meters down the hall - one statement fell out of her mouth.

"I'm sorry."

He froze for a moment, turning fully back to her. He looked angry at first, as if he thought she was mocking him, but his look settled into a complete confusion. His brow furrowed as he took a few steps towards her again, eyes stuck on hers. She forced herself to look at the ground again. This wasn't happening. It couldn't. This was twice in one week, and only the first week of term!

"What did you say to me?"

She twisted her face - wanting to convey her fear but unable to let that show through - into a sneer. "Only what a decent person would say. There's little wonder that I said it then, instead of you."

"You think me indecent?"

"I do. In fact, past indecent. I think you're a foul, iniquitous, disgusting piece of _shit_ and I'd love for you to step as far back from me as humanly possible so that I don't have to endure your presence any longer Indecency is an understatement. I _loathe_ you." She pulled herself off the wall, standing toe to toe with him. He looked as if he might retort - or draw his wand, she wasn't sure - but he only stepped back, glowering, and took off down the hall again. As soon as he turned a corner out of sight, Hermione sank down on the wall, letting out a sigh of relief. If he'd have found out... she was lucky she turned that one around... but if that was twice in just one week, think of what his usual bossy nature could do to her...

She rose again from the floor, eager to get to her dormitory and hide there the rest of the day. Maybe if she stayed away from him long enough, he would forget what had happened. She'd go see Harry and Ron at Dinner and then excuse herself to do work. Nobody would be the wiser. Nobody would ask why she was so resolutely avoiding the common room. And if she shut her curtains and ignored her dorm mates, nobody could tell her what to do for at least a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

As much as she'd tried, she couldn't hide in her dormitory forever. It wasn't just for want of food, drink, and company, either. No, instead Lavender had informed her that Harry and Ron were both threatening to blow down the tower if she didn't come downstairs, before Lavender herself ran back down the stairs to join them. She'd managed to avoid it from Friday afternoon until Sunday evening, asking her roommates to bring her food because she 'wasn't feeling well'. Parvati had suggested she go to the Hospital Wing if she really wasn't feeling that well, but she'd refused and they knew it went farther than a stomach ache or a migraine. Her refusal to come down from the dormitory at all had lead Ginny to talk to Harry, who had instantly demanded to see her. Luckily he couldn't get up the staircase, and for the first bit of time Ginny was too timid to get fussy.

Sunday changed things - worst of all, Ginny's phrasing. It had begun with "Hermione, you really should come down and eat something..." but had now come to "Hermione, come downstairs. The boys are driving me mad." She had been able to shut herself in her four-poster successfully for two days, but this new order broke the dam and forced her to a standing position. She only had enough time to pile her hair on top of her head in a bun and pull on jeans and a sweater before her fingers were seemingly pulled towards the doorknob.

Ginny grinned when she saw her. "Good. I was beginning to get worried. You know how they get, too, they won't leave you alone no matter how loudly you shout at them..."

Hermione followed the younger girl downstairs, praying with all her might that the common room was otherwise empty. It was still a nice afternoon, despite the September chill setting in, and there was very little homework to do. Perhaps Draco wouldn't be there at all, and she wouldn't have to face him and try to gauge whether or not he had picked up on her secret. As she padded down the last of the steps behind Ginny - who wore a smug look in celebration of being the only one who had 'convinced' Hermione to come down all weekend - she dug her nails into her palms. Seven more steps... four... last step...

He was nowhere to be seen. Draco, she meant. Harry and Ron were sat at each of two chairs near the staircase, in the middle of a game of Wizard's Chess that looked like it was going very thoroughly in Ron's favor. Surprise, surprise. Harry looked up first, noticing her.

"Hermione! There you are. We were worried about you..."

"Worried how? I was fine... just taking some time to myself. Classes again, you know. It's been a while since I've had to write an essay or anything." She pulled what she thought might look like a smile across her face and gestured for Harry to move over in his armchair. She squashed in beside him and looked up at Ron, who was grinning at her. She and Ron were... together, in a way. In the way that neither of them had officially discussed it, but they still knew what was between them and what had transpired. But she'd been adamant at the fact that they not let their relationship get in the way of their studies, and he'd finally caved in. She could have whatever she wanted, if she would at least publicly admit she was his. This, she had no problem with.

They passed some time in the common room before she began to feel uneasy again. But why should she let her final year be ruined by spending all of it avoiding Draco Malfoy? He was going to show up. In her own _common room._ In _Gryffindor_ tower. But she had to let that go. Suddenly, everything felt alright again...

Until roughly four minutes later, when a raucous bout of hoarse male laughter was heard coming through the portrait hole. Hermione excused herself and attempted to leave the group around her and head back upstairs, but a few words from Ron kept her cemented to her seat. Draco, Blaise, and their three dorm mates scared a group of third years out of the seats by the fire and took their places, Draco thankfully facing the other way. It would be bad enough if any of her friends realized what was wrong with her - if someone like any of those boys knew, it could be disastrous. She rose just slightly from the chair, looking instantly towards the staircase.

"Where are you going, Hermione? Sit. Stay with us a while. At least a few minutes longer, please..."

At ' _sit'',_ her bottom sank back into the chair beside Harry, and she smiled despite the growing panic in her mind. She'd make it look like she was staying because Ron asked her to - and in most circumstances, she would have despite the direct order - but she itched to spring to her feet and climb the stairs back to safety, or else hide out in the library.

 _The library!_ Why hadn't she thought of it before? Draco almost never went into the library, he usually had a younger student retrieve his books for him, or else snuck in and out without a peep. Not one to be seen studying or taking, well, _anything_ seriously, she knew she'd have a haven once more between rows of tomes and she wouldn't run into him at all. It was a perfect way of avoiding anyone finding out (mostly because _nobody_ spent as much time as Hermione did in the library, and she knew that none of her friends would ever follow her there) while also getting her school work done and securing the number of NEWTs she was aiming for. She sat silently for a few more minutes as that game ended and Harry gave up his seat to Ron (who sat beside Hermione while he played a game against Seamus, who wasn't very good). As soon as that game was half-over and had already been decided as being in Ron's favor, she was able to move again. She planted her feet and didn't wait for anyone else to notice and make her stay. She spoke quietly enough to be heard only by those around her.

"I'm going to the library. I've got loads of homework already, and I've worked on a bit of it already but if I want it all to be perfect, I've got to go."

Her friends sent her off (as she'd suspected - nobody else shared that degree of perfectionism) and Hermione quickly retrieved her book bag from upstairs before darting down the stairs again and out the portrait hole without another word. Once safely in the hallway she ducked around any students or staff she saw in the halls and made her way to the library in near-record time.

The smell set her at ease again - dust and something musky, a comfortable sort of scent. Her shoulders relaxed instantly, though she hadn't even realized they'd been so tense. She slipped through two rows and off into a dim corner with a cubby desk half-hidden by the large shelf in front of it. She pulled out her parchment and quill, and with one more look around the room to make sure she was alone, she began to work. This was where she felt most at home - at her favorite cubby desk in her favorite room at Hogwarts, with at least one book open in front of her and her nicest quill in hand. She found that her latest Charms essay was easier than she'd imagined, and quickly had the required twelve inches and then a few more tacked onto the bottom of that. Flitwick would be pleased, as usual. She began to roll that bit of parchment up and pull out another one for Transfiguration when she heard a noise at the end of the row, a creaking sound that meant someone had stepped on the floorboards. Her head snapped to the side, expecting Voldemort or worse - Draco Malfoy. But it was only a fifth year Hufflepuff girl, one who gave her an odd sort of look while walking away. It served Hermione right, and she knew it. She was being paranoid. She resigned herself to feel better and to get out of this rut. It had happened twice. She'd gotten out of it both times by improvising and using her usual sharp wit. She could do it again, if needed.

But at the end of the night when Madam Pince unceremoniously kicked her out of the library and sent her to bed, that resolution was far from her mind. She had more important things to deal with - the ending of that last essay wasn't quite perfect, and she still had to think of a theoretical better antidote for a more rare poison, for Potions class...

"Ahem."

It wasn't even a good fake cough, but it had caught her attention for that reason. The doors of the library closed behind her and Hermione felt the baby hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end.

"Hello?"

The light that had come from the library was out, and now only a dim glow remained from a torch a few yards down the hall. The noise sounded again.

"Ahem." This time, it was followed by footsteps. When she finally made out which direction they were coming from, she turned to see a tall dark figure with unmistakably light blonde hair.

He narrowed his eyes, circling her as she clutched at her bag hanging at her hip. His eyes never left her, and the corners of his lips just turned up in a faint smirk. "Studying?"

She released her grip on her bag. She could handle herself any other day, today would be no different. "I've been known to do that. You should try it some time."

She swore she could hear him chuckle as he walked behind her. She stepped forward, meaning to make the long walk down the short hallway that would take her to the grand staircase, but he came around and stepped in front of her again, bending forward slightly to lower his face to close to her level. She'd never realized just how tall he was - the last time she'd been that close to him was in Third Year when she'd hit him. She felt like she could do it again, if she needed to. He let out a breath.

"Careful, Granger... small girl in a dark hallway with a man much bigger than her."

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. I've hit you once and I could do it again. Don't force my hand."

"Oh, I remember it well. A good swing, yes... bruised me for a few days. Did more than that though, it humiliated me. And disgusted me. If you weren't such a little thing, such a girl, I'd have swung right back and that would have stopped you from thinking you scare me _at all._ Unfortunately, hitting you then would have resulted in expulsion."

"And attempting to frighten me in a hallway now doesn't warrant the same?" She looked up at him through her eyelashes, gaze stern.

"No, silly girl, it does not." He took one step forward, and then another, until their faces were an inch apart. She scurried back, anxious to get as far from him as she could. She stepped quickly around him and walked down the hall at normal pace. She could make him think this conversation was over, except...

Except he'd be heading to the same common room. He'd maneuvered his way in a week ago and he knew it got under her skin, and that of those of her classmates. She continued at an even pace, though her breathing was anything but even. For a moment he didn't seem to follow her, but after a few paces he took off after her, his long strides closing the distance between them. He stepped out in front of her again. She was just paces from the staircase, maybe she could lose him there if it took a random change in direction. Merlin knew it had happened on her way to somewhere important loads of times...

"Ah ah, hold on little bookworm. You don't just walk away from a Malfoy or family of - that scar on your neck is proof enough of that."

Her hand raised to her throat - Bellatrix's scar. At the manor she'd had a knife held to her throat by Draco's aunt, and in the process of escaping had been cut by it deeply enough to leave a thin, pink scar across half of her throat. Though Harry, Ron, and most of their friends avoided talking about it or looking at it, she'd seen some students point and whisper. Nobody else knew _who_ it had been caused by - but _how_ it got there was clear. She could once again feel the cold metal cut through her skin, could feel the blood pool there and then spill over the sides of the cut, just shallow enough to let her know that she was safe, somehow.

"The scar on my neck is proof that I _did_ walk away, isn't it? Though not entirely unscathed, obviously. I'd think twice about who walked away from that confrontation - I or Bellatrix. Because even though I didn't personally rid the world of such evil, someone did."

His face turned down into a grimace, and he very nearly recoiled from her. Good. It might be working.

"Yes, your blood traitor friends. How touching. And they saved you then, didn't you? When you got that scar? But where are they now?" He exaggerated a sweeping glance down both sides of the dim hallway. "Oh, they're not here."

"What do you want, Malfoy? Just let me leave."

"I don't _want_ anything. Well, I do want to know what your problem is so far this year. Seems you've become even more insufferable since last year. But mostly I want to know why you keep _watching_ me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She looked at the ground. How could he have seen? Unless one of his friends were to see her staring at the back of his head, steadfastly avoiding his presence. He and Blaise had been turned towards the fire that afternoon, but the remaining three goons had not.

"You think me stupid?"

"I think you're blind. I noticed you arrived in the common room, though I wished you were as far from it as possible."

"Too bad. Looks like I'll be in there all year, whether or not you've wished it to be so."

"You're revolting."

"I could say the same of you. Except for one thing..."

"And what is that?"

"Hate to admit it, Granger, but you're intelligent. Over the last year - watching my parents get sent away to Azkaban, watching one of my closest friends die and the other also get sent to Azkaban... losing half of my family - none of my fortune, but half of my family - you'd think I'd have grown a heart. No, not that. But I did successfully avoid imprisonment by resolutely stating the fact that I'd broken no laws. Somehow that was true. I've got a new value on intelligence, and it would be a shame to kill someone with a mind like yours."

She stood in silence, not sure how to respond. Had it been a compliment? No, it had been that he realized that even in his mind, her intelligence was one very small redeeming facet of her personality. Of her existence. She knew it meant only that he would continue to make her suffer more, but what choice did she have? Especially given her new circumstances. She didn't move, didn't change the way she looked at him - a bored sort of annoyance, mixed with a strong desire to smack him right across his perfect little face.

After a few moments he stepped aside, gesturing for her to climb the staircase. She'd have refused if it weren't for the fact that he'd said "Go." With him behind her, he could pull any number of curses or hexes and nobody would be around to see it happen. Even most of the faces in the portraits had their eyes closed, slumber overtaking them. She realized they were both late for curfew, but as Prefects it wouldn't matter if they were caught. It wouldn't matter what she said - if anyone on patrol tonight saw them out, who knew what they'd think. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger out alone in the dark hallways at night. She took in a sharp breath - that wouldn't go over well - and tried taking the stairs even faster. When she reached the second landing, turning right, she looked back to see him - but he wasn't there at all.

* * *

That night, Hermione had run straight through the common room and past her friends towards her dormitory. By the time she was halfway up the stairs, she thanked her lucky stars that none of them had told her to wait, or come back. She couldn't have handled that just then.

The next day was Monday, and as much as she wished she could stay in bed for the remainder of the week - or the school year - she knew that she had classes and meals to get to and so rose from bed of her own accord. Her friends were glad to see her outside of her dormitory and for a fleeting moment, she was glad as well. Breakfast was quick but enjoyable, with Hermione making nary a glance in Draco's direction. She only had one class with him that day, and usual seating arrangements meant that she and Harry would be safe enough on the other side of the Potions dungeon. She was right on that note too - her first two classes and Potions passed without even one little hiccup. Perhaps it had all been in her head, after all.

Or not. She'd made a point of mentioning to Harry that she was staying after class to ask Slughorn a question, and that she'd like it if Harry stayed with her. At the time he'd completely agreed, but as soon as class was released he bolted out the door, his bag flying out in an arc around him. Hermione didn't dare look around the room, she simply strode up to the professor's desk and asked a few questions on the exact nature of the potions they were due to brew the next week in class. NEWT level potions was proving to be a challenge, even for her, but she was assured that it was early enough in the year that they wouldn't be given anything she couldn't handle. She didn't quite believe him, anyway, but she turned and exited the door, thankful that the afternoon of classes was over and that she could now find a place to hide - in her dormitory, most likely - and to study without interruption until dinner.

"Ahem."

Damn.

She released her hold on her bag, turning towards Draco with what she hoped was a tired sort of expression.

"What do you want, Malfoy? I've got studying to do."

He chuckled, falling into step with her and leading them not towards the staircase or Gryffindor tower, which she'd hoped, but off down a narrow corridor Hermione had rarely traveled. "While I'm sure you'd like to stick your face in a book and never come out, I've got news for you. We've been assigned as night patrol partners by McGonagall and the rest of staff. Some sort of house-melding dream team to try and get all of the other houses to see that we can... cooperate."

"You're joking."

"Oh, Granger, I wish I were. But I heard it straight from the cat's mouth - joke intended - and it would seem we're to start tonight."

"I can talk to her... there's no possible way she allowed this to happen."

"She willed it to happen, unfortunately. It was her decision. We meet at ten at patrol until midnight, every Monday and Thursday. We're also first grabs if someone isn't doing their job on weekends - ten-thirty to midnight."

Hermione kept silent. How could this be happening? Why had McGonagall had to choose _her and Draco?_ She knew how Hermione utterly despised the young man, but Hermione supposed that this would all look very nice with her newest plans. She wanted the houses to all get along, to stop being so separate. Well, this may be the way to make things work out between any other two students in school, but between herself and Draco it was sure to be only disaster.

Draco sighed, leading them back towards the main corridor and the staircase. "Of course, she said she'd be available to meet with you later this evening if you'd like to appeal. She said the decision still stands, though. That this will be... _good_ for the two of us."

"She's mad."

"Never thought I'd hear those words come out of your smart little mouth, Granger, but alas she may be. Ten, outside the portrait hole."

Just before walking into the sight of other students, he took a few quick steps forward, separating them. Hermione stopped still at the end of the hallway. This couldn't be happening. She'd been working so diligently to avoid Draco, and now she'd be stuck with him two or three nights a week. And to top it all off, his bossy attitude could ruin everything. What if he found out? What would he do if he knew? Make her hurt herself? Make her hurt the people she loved? Fail her classes? Embarrass herself totally and completely? She shook the thought from her mind, walking quickly to and up the staircase and directly through to her dormitory. She'd eat dinner with her friends, and spend time with them afterwards. No more hiding. Besides, if Draco was going to find out her secret, he now had a few hours a week to do exactly that.

* * *

"You're late."

Draco slipped a small watch back into his pocket. Hermione was climbing out of the portrait hole and checked her own watch as soon as she stood.

"It's eight fifty-six. I'm early."

"No, you're late. Let's get moving then, I'd like to keep busy and be able to pass time as quickly as humanly possible."

They began the slow, predetermined circuit around the castle. Rounds through each dormitory corridor, through all hallways and nooks and crannies. A slow circle around the outside of the castle. Repeat. It was nearly eleven by the time they'd finished the first lap, and though it had passed entirely in silence Hermione felt slightly better about the whole thing. If he was going to be civil enough to not speak to her at all - though he did _look_ at her a few times, which was disconcerting - then perhaps they could pass two hours in relative peace and return to the dormitory unscathed and without tempting each other into a duel to the death. The second lap seemed to go quicker than the first, however, and was finished closer to eleven-forty. With the remaining twenty minutes, Draco lead them through hallways Hermione had rarely been through. In the middle of the third long corridor, he spoke.

"I used to be up late, I'd go through these back hallways with Crabbe and Goyle and sometimes Parkinson and Zabini, and we'd be up late just for the sake of saying we did. I figure if anyone is trying to do the same, this is the place to go."

Hermione nodded. She'd only been back here a few times, wandering with Harry once or twice trying to think of a suitable place for DA meetings. Once the Room of Requirement had come into play, she hadn't thought twice about this little maze of halls. At the end, Draco hesitated, looking towards a door.  
She stood still, trying to see if he sensed someone out of bed.

"Do you hear something?" She looked at him, and he turned to her with a quizzical look on his face.

"No. Let's just keep walking."

They walked all the way back up the staircase and were just a few dozen steps from the portrait hole when he huffed out a breath.

"Stop."

She froze in her tracks, unable to move her feet. Did he hear something this time? But he only went back a few steps, opening a door to a rather small practice room Hermione had never been in. It was dim, the walls only it by one torch.

"Get in."

"What?" She wanted to protest, but her legs were already moving. How did he already know? It had only happened twice! And barely even that. He couldn't know, he couldn't...

But he stepped in behind her and closed and locked the door. "Don't scream. Don't yell. And as soon as we leave this room you are to tell no one what has happened or anything that has been said between us. Do you understand?"

"Draco, I..."

"Do you understand? Answer me."

"Yes."

"Good. Then I've got a few questions to ask you. I want you to answer me with the truth. You've got some sort of enchantment on you, right?"

She tried to remain silent, but she could feel the response building in her throat. The word forced its way out. "Y-Yes."

"Alright. And you've been given some sort of order... what was the spell that was used on you?"

" _Pareo._ "

"I see. You know what it means, I'm guessing? I figure you've researched the subject extensively. I've done a little looking, myself."

"Yes. Obey."

"Yes... it does. Very old magic." Draco looked around the room. There were just a pair of desks and chairs for practice levitating things, and a door that lead to a closet that she knew held old furniture, storage of some Hogwarts holiday decorations, and a chalkboard. Draco leaned back against a desk, looking at her in a way that she was not comfortable with. "Magic older than anything we've ever known. Magic that originated in the ancient times. Strongly Latin-based. But do you understand the differences between this and the Imperius curse?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"Imperius controls body and mind - it's like playing puppeteer with someone's entire being. But Pareo is more basic, and yet more cruel. My mind is mine to keep, and I can attempt to resist orders, but it's no use. My actions are completely controlled."

"You're missing something very important, Granger."

"The spellcaster. He's dead. But the enchantment remains. Even I don't know why."

"There's a reason Pareo was outlawed. Erased from spellbooks. Kept in the utmost secrecy. Because the spellcaster isn't the one who controls you - it's everyone." He took a few steps towards her, his head tilted. "Anyone." He took the last steps towards her, stopping just inches from her. "Someone like me."

"What do you want, Malfoy? I swear, I could tell on you, you'd be sent to Azkaban, you could be..."

"Stop there." She felt her lips come together, seemingly glued there. He smirked. "See, I wouldn't be. I didn't cast the spell. I haven't done anything. But you're going to do something now that you don't want to do, and I'm hardly going to _order_ you to do it. I want you to think. Think hard about the similarities between you and myself. Think about what you and I value above most things. Something that we strive for. And then I want you to tell me what it is."

It took her only moments. It was evident in what she was fighting against and in the decorum that fitted them both. "Control."

"Yes, yes. Control is a strong word, but you know the deeper meaning as well. Composure. Being able to completely control aspects of our lives - for you it may be school, your thin relationship with the Weasel, maybe something to do with that mass of curls you call hair. For me it is what people think of me, my finances, behaviors. But no, Granger. What I want from you isn't necessarily control. I don't want to entirely control you. No, I want something deeper than that. I want you to _lose_ control, one way or another. I've done it, a handful of times. When I dueled Potter in the bathroom. When I flee from the war. And while I enjoyed each of those things immensely - a wild, untamed approach to a situation - my release of inhibitions was limited to myself. I've thought about it since I found out about your little secret - not that it could have lasted long without being discovered, really. What would it be like for Hermione Granger to lose control? I'd like to see that. Don't you want to feel something like that? Tell me honestly."

Thoughts tumbled around in her brain. Loss of inhibitions, loss of control. But weren't they the same thing, to some degree? "I... I don't know."

"Goodness, conflicted little Granger. Well, let me give you a little more insight." He shifted on his hip and tilted his head down towards her. She made a move to step back only... only she didn't. Couldn't? She wasn't sure. He smelled like something musky, smoky. It made her head swim and she couldn't call it unpleasant.

He chuckled, stepped back just a few inches. "I told you to enter this room, but I never told you not to leave it. Yet you're standing here, after this conversation."

She started. He was right. She could turn now and leave, if only... if only he didn't know so much. She couldn't erase it from his memory, that was highly illegal.

"Tell me Granger. Your so-called relationship with Weasley. Do you enjoy it?"

"Of course I do. Ron and I are matched well."

"I'm sure. But what about affection? Physical attraction?"

She felt herself blush. She hadn't really been ready to cross that line until late in August, and even then she'd had a strict set of rules.  
She realized with a start that she hadn't _wanted_ him to touch her. Something that all persons, especially at the hormonal age she was at, should want.

He smirked. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"We've never done much. Clothes mostly on. It was my rule, only... only I don't know why. It just felt weird, being touched by someone I'd considered one of my best friends. It was uncomfortable at times."

"But you're of age. It's not out of the question. In fact, shouldn't you _want_ those things?"

"Draco, please. Can we stop this? Just let me go..."

"No. Stay. I want to ask you a few things. Are you afraid?"

"I... no. Not afraid."

"Then tell me why you want to leave."

"I'm embarrassed."

"Tell me - embarrassed because of what you're telling me, or embarrassed because you're telling me things you've hardly realized yourself?"

"The latter."

"I want you to answer my next questions completely honestly. How far have you gone with Ron Weasley?"

"He's... we've only ever kissed. We tried touching with clothes on, and once with clothes somewhat off."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Some parts."

"Which parts?"

"I... I liked being touched. Clothes off."

"But not by Ron Weasley?"

"No."

"With someone else?"

"There's been no one else."

She felt her cheeks turn red. This was mortifying. How could she be talking about this sort of thing to Malfoy when she couldn't even bring it up to Ron? Being back at school had helped, he knew she was too busy with studying to sneak off and she'd been able to avoid him anyway. But it wasn't as if she didn't have feelings for him - she thought to herself that she might even love him, in a way.  
And then the dreaded question came.

"Why don't you want him to touch you? Tell me."

"Because it feels like a friend or a brother. It's not... exciting." She recoiled at her own words. That sounded mean. Ron was perfectly attractive, in his own way. But she hardly ever felt like a girl around him. She was either his best friend Hermione, or sometimes he'd kiss her and she'd feel like a girl but then that would be over in an instant.

"Tell me when was the last time you touched yourself."

She thought she'd been red before - her face flushed purple. "Please, no... oh god, two weeks ago."

He sniggered, walking in slow circles around her. She felt smaller somehow, more vulnerable. But he didn't seem as if he wanted to harm her - just embarrass her half to death. What could he do, tell Ron? She doubted it. Not that Ron would believe him. But she sensed that this was about something else entirely.

"Tell me. Did you lose control?"

"Yes."

She thought about it - she'd rarely done it before. Maybe a handful of times. It seemed so vulgar, even though she knew it was perfectly normal for anyone. She'd been in the shower, and the boys were all out playing Quidditch in the yard. She told Ron she was staying inside to read, but a shower had sparked something in her. She'd run her hands over her round little breasts, slick over her flat stomach, and to the fronts of her hips. Just the tip of her hip bones stuck out against pale skin. She'd developed a little later than some, just now sprouting breasts and watching her hips take shape over this last summer. And as far as hip areas went, she'd been keeping _that_ area free of hair for a year or two now, mostly because it itched her and seemed like an inconvenience. She had run her hand over the fleshy mound and a breath had rattled in her. She'd left the shower in a minute flat and laid on Ron's bed a minute after that. Her wet curls laid out on her shoulders, eyes closed. Her fingers had roamed the area briefly before she'd let a finger slip over the little nub there, sending shock waves through her body. She was eighteen, for Merlin's sake. This was perfectly fine. With her other hand clasped over her left breast, she let the fingers of her right hand trace slow circles over an area she'd rarely acknowledged. Every movement made her ache, a slow burn in her belly making her thrust upwards into her hand. She spread her legs wider, and a cool breeze through the window flicked over the dampness between her legs and made her eyes roll back in her head. What had she thought about? Sex. She'd never had it, though she'd thought about it plenty in the name of both science and pleasure. She remembered her release - bucking her hips up against the pads of two fingers on her right hand. Pinching and pulling the nipple of her left breast as she hissed through her teeth and then fell, spent, back to the mattress. She'd immediately dressed again, fearing someone might walk in on her, but the memory and feeling had stayed with her for days afterwards.

"You're thinking about it."

She was snapped back to the present by Draco, who was steps away again, watching her. She knew her pulse was quick, knew he'd been watching her pupils dilate and her chest rise and fall deeply.

She nodded slightly before realizing he hadn't given her and order. This she'd admitted by her own free will. He must have known the same, as his grin only grew.

"Interesting... the bookworm has a whole other side to her now. Well... I think that's well enough for one night. Remember what I said - you can't tell anyone what happened in this room tonight. I don't think you would anyway... too many questions. This never happened. You can go, now." She felt a hold on her release and walked quickly towards the door, her head down. She'd been embarrassed, but why? Was it because she'd allowed herself to think of such things and say such things at all? Or was it because of Draco Malfoy making her explain them all?

"Oh, and wait, Granger."

She felt her steps slow. She'd been just inches from the door. He walked up behind her, his chest pressing into her shoulder blades. She remembered just how tall he was as she felt his warm breath tickle her left ear.

"I want you to touch yourself tonight. Shut up your four-poster, cast your silencing charm, and touch yourself. And I want you to think of me while you do it. Now go."

She felt her eyes widen as she grasped the knob, flew out into the hallway, and practically tumbled through the portrait hole and up the stairs to her four poster.

Once she was there, the effect was immediate. She slipped her wand from her pocket and sealed and silenced her four poster. She was completely alone in this little area, surrounded by masses of soft blankets and a fluffy pillow. Well, completely alone except for the pale face burning in her mind. His tall figure, broad shoulders. It was disgusting, but then it wasn't, and... her clothes were off before she'd realized what she'd been doing. She was naked in her bed except for her knee socks of cozy grey wool. There was no cool breeze this time, only the clear memory of Malfoy's warm breath tickling her ear as he instructed her to do what she was about to begin. _Touch yourself._ Her fingers traced the curves of her body down to that fleshy mound again, between lips that had been damp since he'd made her think about the _last_ time she'd done this. She was embarrassed, yes. And she wanted this to be in her control, she wanted to do this of her own accord. But wasn't this all part of his new little plan? To make her lose control? Well, he hadn't ordered that. But she felt a loss growing in her mind as the ache grew in her hips. Her fingertips over that most sensitive spot sent a wave of feeling over her body. She arched her back, quickened the movement with her hand. The way he'd walked up behind her - domineering, manly, knowing exactly what he wanted. In some way, that was all she'd wanted from Ron. But it had come from _him_ instead...

And in an instant she thought of what his chest might look like, or his bum, and if he'd be the sort of man that could make her want to do all of those things she wanted to do. If he could be the sort of man that might make her feel like a _woman,_ not a girl at all. If he were to touch her like she was touching herself... like he'd ordered her to touch herself, knowing exactly how it would make her feel, his warm breath perhaps tickling other parts of her anatomy and...

She let out a little mewl of pleasure as she bucked up against her fingers, her free hand grasping the blankets under her body. She felt spent, she felt _good,_ but she also felt a sort of conflicting pleasure rising within her. She hated him, but _he_ had made her feel this good. _He_ had wanted her to do this.

Before she could rationalize any of it or even catch her breath again, her eyelids fluttered shut and she was lured into a sleep full of hazy images of sex, an open window, and that dim practice room down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

"'ny news on Quiddi'?" Ron stammered out a question with his mouth full of roast chicken. Harry looked up from where he'd been pushing peas around on his plate and shook his head.

"No. I tried asking, but McGonagall just told me she'd already let out enough about her plans for it. It's not going to be segregated by house. Anyone can join any team... you going to try out?"

Ron nodded vigorously, swallowing this time before speaking. He also dropped his left hand underneath the table, letting it come to rest on Hermione's thigh.

She could have jumped through the roof. She'd been quiet all of Tuesday and most of Wednesday. Every time she opened her mouth she was afraid she'd spill out exactly what had taken place on Monday, and every time _that_ happened she felt her face flush with shame. She had rarely done that before, and never when thinking about a specific person. The handful of times she'd locked a door, spent a few moments to herself, and released her stress, she'd only thought of a vague idea of sex - of what it would feel like. Of what she'd read and researched. But seeing _his_ face and _his_ broad shoulders as she'd trembled in her four-poster - well, that was something she didn't want to think about, even now. She'd successfully avoided him for all of Tuesday and Wednesday, even forcing herself to look down at her desk and miss the opportunity to answer _easy_ questions in class, so that she wouldn't accidentally make eye contact with him during one of the two classes they had together.

He'd figured out her secret so quickly - but how? Had her being hit with that curse been planned, even before the final battle? But what use was that? Why wouldn't a Death Eater just kill her, if he wanted her gone?

She remembered what happened. Her wand pointing towards Ron. How she only barely missed him before feeling the release that meant the spellcaster was dead. But she was still forced to obey commands... perhaps it _did_ have something to do with what Draco was talking about. Ancient magic - it made sense. But how would he have known, in the first place? How could he have guessed that it was an ancient curse causing her to step out of the way instead of her usual polite, somewhat quiet nature? She might ask him, one day. If she ever got the nerves.

"I'd just hate to have to play on the same team as Malfoy..."

Ron grimaced, looking over Harry's shoulder to the Slytherin table, where Draco now sat. Hermione stole a glace too, though she turned quickly back. Harry shook his head.

"Me too, but think about the Quidditch possibilities. Playing on a team with Malfoy, well, he's one of the best. We'd win every match, easily..."

"I'd rather have to play against him and beat his arse anyway." Ron nodded, grinning. "I'd rather have the chance to knock him off his broom for fun."

Harry chuckled, and the boys continued talking for only a minute before one word caught her attention.

"Well, it's Thursday. Got Potions in a few, better get moving..." Harry stood, heaving his bag over his shoulder. "You both coming?"

Hermione dropped her fork, joining Harry. She didn't think she could handle being left alone with Ron while he wasted another few minutes eating. Not after the other night. Not after what she was sure to come. Thursday meant patrol. Thursday meant another night with Draco Malfoy.

"Yes, I'd better join you. I wanted to get there early anyway, I have something I'd like to look over and it's much too loud here." Ron looked at her for a moment, if only briefly wishing she'd stay with him for another few minutes. But a newly appearing plate of sausages caught his attention, and Hermione knew she was safe, at least for a little while.

"You two go on then, I'll get there when I get there." Ron grinned through a mouthful of sausages, allowing Hermione to walk quickly ahead, even ahead of Harry, who called out to her as she disappeared into the crowded hall.

* * *

She'd considered going to McGonagall and insisting that her patrol partner be changed. She'd been thinking about that since _before_ their little 'patrol' on Monday. But she already knew what the older woman would say. She knew it as easily as she knew the reason they'd been matched in the first place. The theme that year was an overwhelming attempt at House Unity. At forging new friendships. And what better example than herself and Draco? Hermione knew that any attempt at a switch would be futile. McGonagall wanted Hermione and Draco to be an example for all younger students - and for those in their own year, as well. She wanted them to be proof that two previous enemies could work together, tolerate one another, and not shout at each other in the hallways. Perhaps that would happen, after a year, if it hadn't been Draco. If Monday night hadn't happened. If he didn't know the secret that threatened to destroy her.

She knew where this could lead. _Pareo_ forced her to obey _every_ command. He could force her to say things she didn't mean. To do cruel things, or things like Monday. He could send her jumping off the highest tower at Hogwarts, right after Dumbledore. He could kill her, but worse than that he could ruin her life while she still had it. And despite the fact that somehow, he'd been pardoned and allowed to return to school, she knew that a dark heart still made up the whole of Draco Malfoy. She knew that this could not end well. But what was her other option? She had no idea if this curse could ever be removed. She had no idea if she'd ever be able to follow only her own will again. And what if she went to someone for help? That would just be one more person who knew her secret. She'd thought about telling Ron, but she knew he wouldn't be able to take it seriously. He'd take advantage of silly things like making Hermione do his homework, like making her give him answers in class or things like that. She'd thought about telling Harry, but his first move would be to run to McGonagall and tell her, and Hermione knew that was an even worse idea. While at first, the idea of telling McGonagall had seemed like the only feasible way out, she realized it would get her extracted from Hogwarts and probably sent to St Mungo's for testing. Dangerous curse-removal-type testing. And she might never return from that.

Worst of all was realizing that Draco could have forced her to do much worse on Monday. He'd known for days. He'd been watching her. Yet, while he had embarrassed her half to death, and made her think of _him_ while she pleasured herself, she could only think that he could have done much worse. Well, today was another day. She could still feel the tips of her fingers in that heated spot, pressing harder when she thought of Draco walking up behind her, his chest pressed against her back.

Moments later, she'd feel a slight dampness pool between her legs. She'd excuse herself from Potions, she'd have to walk right by his table. She'd take her bookbag with her - she wouldn't be returning to Potions that day. Instead, she'd walk the long hallways to Gryffindor tower, shut herself in her four poster, and take a nap. In the end, it was the only thing that could keep her from reliving Monday night, _sans ordre._ When she woke for her next class, she'd have to change her knickers. A first.

* * *

She shivered, despite the fact that it was still warm outside the castle walls. She'd worn her most modest sweater and jeans, but she knew that it wasn't what he saw that would force his hand. It was her curse. It was their turn to patrol the area outside Hogwarts, to look for any students sneaking around out of bed. In the first weeks, it was usually handfuls of adventurous first years, trying to see more of the grounds. In the months after, it was the older students, years four or five and up, looking for private time with one other student or for a little rule breaking adventure.

"You're early. Surprise, surprise."

She didn't turn to face him, she knew what she'd see. Hands in his pockets, smirk on his face. Brows raised, broad shoulders and... she stopped.

"I'm always on time, Draco. I was early last time, if you don't remember."

"Oh, I remember Monday _very_ well." He walked around, trying to face her, but she continued to turn away from him. Hermione should have realized sooner that he was much quicker. One large step and he was directly in front of her, facing her. "And considering the fact that you haven't reported me or killed me in my sleep, I'm assuming you're conflicted about it."

"I can't report you. If I did, that would just mean one more person knew about my curse."

She heard a long, slow intake of breath. "Ah. And more details come to surface. Nobody else knows, then?"

"Nobody knew. I had intended to keep it a secret as long as I could. Not Harry, not Ron, nobody."

"Nobody except me. And that, Granger, is overwhelmingly due to the fact that I'm equally as clever as you, and equally as curious. I noticed it very early on. A commanding personality and a girl with a curse. It was bound to happen, patrol or not. Speaking of." He began walking at a slow pace. There was no need to rush. Night patrol outside the castle was usually the easiest, and most boring. If no one snuck out, it was simply a few laps around the castle. If someone did sneak, it was a few less laps and a trip to the Headmistress' office. Hermione hesitated before following him, but it was her duty. What was her other option, to run back to the dormitories and have Draco rat her out to McGonagall? Unlikely. Hermione Granger was known for lots of things, but silly rule breaking was not one of them. She walked beside him, keeping her eyes trained on her feet.

They walked in silence for many minutes before realizing that this was going to be more of a boring night on patrol - for now. There were no students out of bed, no one to take points from or to send to their inevitable detention. Hermione kept her lips sealed for as long as she could, but as Draco cleared her throat, she knew that couldn't last forever.

"How was Monday night?"

"You're ridiculous. I should kill you on the spot."

"But you won't. Too good for that, aren't you? But not too good to think about me while you... well, you know what you did. That's enough."

Hermione looked up to see the pleased sort of smirk on his face. She could spit venom. "I only did it because I was forced to."

"But you enjoyed it. I never said you had to enjoy it."

The verbal venom stuck in her throat. He was right. He'd never ordered her to enjoy it. That was purely hers. It was more disgusting than if he'd forced it. She had half a mind to tell him how disgusting he was, when he asked her a simple question.

"What did you think about?"

"You. You know that. You forced it."

"But what specifically. Tell me, now."

"You... you..." She thought of it all at once. Backwards and forwards, it was a blur. "Your shoulders. You stepping up behind me, pressing against my back. Your breath against my ear."

He paused a second, stepping behind her, not touching her. She could feel his head lower beside hers, his lips just an inch from her ear. "Like this?"

She was paralyzed, though not by fear. What sort of trickery was this? He'd never ordered her to enjoy it. He'd never forced that. So why had she gone moist again? She had an inkling of an idea - masculinity, height, power. She was a girl, after all, and one who was very curious.

"Yes."

She heard a small sound of amusement behind her ear before he stepped out beside her again. "Good." They walked in silence for a few minutes longer. Hermione felt... what did she feel? Embarrassment? Less that, than a wholly consuming curiosity. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to kill him. But she also wondered where this was going, and whether or not she'd be alright with the outcome. On the far side of the castle, facing the lake, he stopped again. It was darkest on this side, she could hardly see a thing except for a small reflection in his eyes. He said one word - _stop -_ and she knew something was coming.

"What else are you curious about, Hermione?"

"Firstly, I'm now curious why you've just called me by my given name."

He laughed a full, hearty laugh. She hadn't expected the sound - it sounded like any other laughter, and much less like the cackle she'd been expecting. "That, strange girl, is because I'm getting ahead of myself. Don't you worry about that. I'm going to ask you a few more things. Again, you must be completely honest with me. Is that understood?"

She felt her agreement roll off her tongue, but she could hardly believe the situation again. "Yes."

"Good, good... there's really only one thing I want to hear this time, and then we'll go on to discuss other matters. Monday night - when you were thinking of me - did any part of you believe that you should be thinking about Ron Weasley?"

How could he do that? How could he, in one question, make her doubt such an important part of her life? "No."

"I'm assuming it's because you think of him as a friend, a brother, like you told me before. Correct?"

"Correct." She knew that. She'd known that since before Monday. She loved Ron, she did, but she couldn't imagine a physical side to their relationship without laughing.

She saw no change in his face, nothing to betray feeling pleased or displeased. She stood, waiting for another question or direction, for some time. None came for so long that she thought she might be okay this time, but he shifted his weight and opened his mouth for a moment before speaking.

He stepped towards her, his lips still parted, and through a small bit of light could see something reflected in his eyes. It was more than curiosity, it was something driving him, something in his own head that didn't look friendly.

"Did you lose control?"

She could feel the answer spiraling around her, and was suddenly aware of the fact that this answer would not please him. "No."

He grunted, stepping closer until he towered over her, his eyes narrow. "Why?"

"I... I don't know. I just couldn't."

"Was it because I told you to touch yourself?"

"Maybe, I..."

"What is it then?"

"I don't know! I have no experience with this, Malfoy. The one time I've been touched by someone else, it was Ron and I felt nothing. Less than when I touch myself." She slammed her lips together, trying to keep the rest of it in, but she could feel her own mouth betraying her. "But I've never even had an experience with anyone else. Snogging, with Viktor Krum, but I have no experience beyond that, that would give me some idea of what losing control is supposed to feel like."

He did not step backwards, but she could feel his intensity relax, if only fractionally. "I see. In asking you about your experience with Weasley, I forgot that you might not have experience otherwise. You're eighteen and you've never been touched, not in a way that pleased you. You've never felt the thrill of a man, have you?"

"No."

"Have you ever fantasized about anyone? Thought about anyone sexually?"

"Other than... other than Monday, no."

He huffed out a breath, and stepped back a half step. It was enough to let her breath, but he just huffed again, looking around. "Well. This is going to be harder than I thought. Trying to make Hermione Granger lose control, and she's never even thought about a man before. Don't tell me you've thought about a woman, or anything..."

"No, not my area."

"Hmm."

Was that all? Was he going to mock her now for being a virgin, and on top of that a virgin who'd never even seriously thought about sex before? She knew it had been at least an hour since they'd begun, but that meant another hour of patrol before she was free. Before she could think of a way to pass an hour's time without having to answer any more questions, he moved. All he did was put his hand on her waist.

All he did was brush his thumb against her ribs, and it felt like her spine had caught fire. Her lower back ached. He'd been the only man she'd ever thought about while she was turned on, and even if that was by his own order, it clearly still mattered long after the fact. He groaned, stepped towards her again.

"Have you thought about it since then? About me?"

"I... this morning. I left Potions."

"Was that why? I noticed your sudden exit, thought it might have something to do with being forced to be in the same room as me. I never imagined that it was because you'd been thinking about me."

She said nothing. She didn't have to, he didn't ask. Her simple explanation had been enough. No matter how much she hated what he was doing, no matter how afraid she was that he knew about her curse, he had one thing now that she'd never be able to forget - the way she'd moved against her own hand when she thought about his shoulders, his arms. She knew it as well as he. He stepped back, dropping his hand from her waist, and she was torn. She hated him. He'd seen her tortured. He'd mocked her in their youth. But he'd been the one to encourage, in a much more direct way, that she explore something that she'd been missing. She ached where his hand had left her side.

Only when he turned to walk away, around a corner and into light flooding in from torches lining the front of the castle, did she see something she hadn't counted on - a rising bulge in the front of his jeans. The thick fabric kept it from showing too much, but Hermione was utterly shocked to learn that Draco had gotten hard, thinking about what had happened. Thinking about anything that had to do with _her._ And her mind wandered, all over again, for a few brief moments.

Then, an idea struck. Malfoy wasn't the only one who could ask a few mortifying questions. She cleared her throat and watched him take one more step, turning away slightly with his foot as if to hide his excitement.

"I know that's not a flashlight in your pocket, you wouldn't need one."

She'd expected a triumph, a small victory. She'd expected him to deny it or find a way around it. Instead, he turned back towards her, that same glint in his eyes, and crossed the space between them in three strides, backing her up against the outer walls of the castle until she smacked her head against the stone. He did not stop when she couldn't back up any further, he inched in and pressed himself flush against her. His hands pinned her arms and shoulders to the stone behind her, his head was bent over hers. This had gone wrong, he was pushing her roughly against the rock. But she could feel his erection, now full against her belly. Being in control was making him hard, and it frightened her.

"Mock me again."

He clearly hadn't realized the weight of his words. Now she'd have to. "A little worked up, are you? Do you get off on things like this? Is that what this is about, pleasing yourself by being in control?"

The noise that came from his throat was hardly human, and he shook her against the stone. "Don't think you can get one up on me. If I wanted, I could make you do things worse than death. And in time, perhaps I will. If I get off on ordering you around, on ordering you to do things that please me, then that's my vice to choose. You, however, have no choice in the matter. And as you've said, telling on me is still not in your best interests. The moment you decided to rat me out, I rat you out, are we clear? The entire school would know, the entire wizarding world. You'd be a freak. You'd be used worse than I'll use you, are we clear?"

"You'd still be the one with the erection pressing against my belly." She hadn't meant to say that, but the adrenaline had been almost as convincing as _Pareo._

She felt his fingers tense around her arms only briefly, then relax. She expected rage, she expected anger, but she hadn't expected this.

"I'm getting tired of your mouth, girl. Let's see if we can find some use of it. Get on your knees."

Her eyes went wide, bigger than the moon above their heads. She wanted to protest. To say no. She'd never... she wasn't sure... but the cool ground felt nice on her knees, and she was suddenly eye-level with the very erection she'd just mocked. She knew what was coming, there was no use in fighting it. And yet... curiosity niggled at the front of her mind. Perhaps _her_ clothes had been off, but Ron's hadn't fully. She'd touched Ron's through his pants, but hadn't ever seen one in person. That was about to change. She didn't want to - she wouldn't have been down here if he hadn't ordered her to - but some small part of her was curious enough to keep her from shouting. That same part of her was probably in too much shock to do any shouting, anyway.

He undid his belt, letting it hang, and then unbuttoned and unzipped his pants in one deft motion. His jeans and boxers didn't fall far, they fit his frame well, and without the binding action of the thick fabric holding him back, Malfoy's erection bounced upwards, coming to rest as it touched the tip of her nose. Oh.

She'd never seen one in person before, so seeing one this up close and personal was a bit overwhelming. The skin that touched her nose was soft, silky even. She couldn't see much else until she leaned back slightly, and though she'd expected his member to dip and weigh down, it barely moved. This movement, however, afforded her a much better view of what was before her. All disgust at the situation was put temporarily at bay, blinded for a moment by her desire to learn more, to see, to know. From what she'd read, the average erection was only around fourteen centimeters long. Malfoy's made the average look like a finger. She estimated twenty-three centimeters. It wasn't freakishly long, but the width of it surprised her. It had to be almost four centimeters across, and if she wasn't stunned as she was, she'd have done the math to figure out circumference. She had time for that later. Draco had wide shoulders, yes, but he was by no means a large man.

Well, not in some senses. She shook her head slightly, trying to rid herself of the ridiculous realization of what she was probably going to have to do. She didn't like the idea of it at all, and certainly not for his pleasure. It only took another moment of her staring before she looked up at him.

"Oh, you know another order is coming then. Expecting it. Good, you're not far off. Tell me, do you like what you see?"

"I don't know. It's the only one I've ever seen, though it is bigger than I've read the average is."

He chuckled, slowly pushing his hips forward so that his cock ran against her cheek. "Yes, yes it is. Good thing for you, you have a big mouth and might be able to accommodate it. Open your mouth."

She didn't want to put _that_ in her mouth. Firstly because it was his, second because it was huge. She wasn't sure it would even fit. But a moment later, he reached out and placed his hand on the back of her head, easing her forward.

She felt the head slide against her tongue, and it was so smooth. Smoother than any skin she'd felt before, and slick. Her tongue naturally depressed as far down into her mouth as it could go, allowing him to press forward, testing the waters. She closed her lips around him on instinct, and he groaned. If she'd have taken half a moment to really consider the situation, she would have been... disgusted? No. Scrutinizing? Maybe.

He pressed in a little more and she could feel her throat begin to protest. He pulled back an inch or two and she realized he'd only been a little more than halfway in. He paused for a moment before humming to himself for a split second.

"Ah, I have one idea. Do not gag. I forbid you to gag." He slid his length back into her mouth and she found that there was no refusal from her throat this time. He slid farther into her, and she felt him at the back of her throat. His fingers dove through her hair, pulling her mouth farther onto him. She felt the head slip past the back of her throat, a little more...

The fleshy bit that hit her chin meant that all of him was inside her mouth now. His small groans turned into open-mouthed, ecstatic moans. "You've got the magic mouth, Granger. Your curse may be a burden to you, but it's a blessing for me." He slid out of her throat, but stayed in her mouth. She could feel the slick of her saliva on her lips, which formed a wide round circle around him. "Now, I want you to please me. Suck. Now." Her lips tightened around him, and her head moved back and forth. This was easier than she thought, and by the sounds coming from his mouth she had to be doing something right. At least something hadn't gone wrong - she feared what might happen if he was displeased, if he was angry. She remembered him pinning her against the stone walls of the castle. He had been completely in charge. She'd hated it. Mostly. "Faster. And do a little more."

She started moving her tongue alone with her mouth, lapping at the underside of his throbbing member as she increased speed. At this he gripped her hair tighter, a bunch of her wild curls in each hand. It pulled a little as she moved her mouth onto him, but it wasn't as if she could speak up and say anything to get him to stop. Not in this predicament. She was almost learning, was almost letting her inquisitiveness win out, but then something changed in him. Did he grow impatient? Was he unhappy? All she knew was that he went from letting her move her head, to moving it for her. His vice grip on her hair was forcing her head back and forth, rushing over his cock so fast that it nearly gave her a headache.

He grunted again, and nudged her legs. "Put your back on the wall." She pulled back, her mouth free for a brief moment. She kneeled, sitting on her ankles with her back against the wall. He moved towards her again, cock in hand. "Open, again. And hold still."

She obeyed, closing her eyes as she did so. Watching his pelvic area thrust in and out of focus was dizzying. In a moment almost too weird for the situation he reached behind her and placed a hand behind her head. Moments later she realized she'd stopped hitting her skull against the rock wall, and instead on his warm hand. She hated this. But he was doing something to her even then, something less obvious. He was getting the best of her mind, the best of her very nature. She wanted to learn. She wanted to know. She'd be too afraid to go about it herself. Neither of them knew it at the time, but as Draco thrust himself through her lips, down her throat, he was starting a torrid affair between them that both would come to desire and despise equally.

Moments later he pulled himself from her mouth, and came on the ground beside her. Hermione watched with bated breath as he stroked himself once, twice, thrice before he shuddered, emptying spurt after spurt of milky white liquid onto the grass beside himself. Once he'd finished, Hermione looked away quickly, wiping her mouth. She was ashamed, she was horrified. She was turned on. He tucked himself back into place, refastening his jeans and belt.

"Stand up. Patrol is almost over and if we're late back, they'll know."

There was a question she wanted to ask, but wasn't sure how to form the words. What if he got mad? What if he used that against her?

"Draco I... if your intent is force, why didn't you finish in my mouth."

He stopped, frozen in his tracks. If she could know how her words had shaken him...

"Because I figure what I've done tonight is enough. You've learned a lesson in mouthing off to someone who knows about your little secret - don't. But the next time you sass me, we'll see if I don't change my mind." They stepped through the front doors of Hogwarts Castle, walking towards the grand staircase that would lead them towards what was previously Gryffindor Tower. She'd almost forgotten that he now resided there, too.

She pondered her next statement carefully. "I don't... You ordered me to, by the way."

"What are you talking about?" He furrowed his brow, looking at her intently.

"You told me to. You said, and I quote, ' _Mock me again'_. I had to."

He let this sink in for a moment, then grinned. "Well, then, I did it because I felt like it. Also, because I know you'll be thinking about it for the next four days until patrol on Monday. Or, even better, until tomorrow's prefect meeting."

He was right. She was thinking about it now. The very idea of it, prior to tonight, had disgusted her and at times frightened her. How could she put something like _that_ in her mouth? How would it fit? Draco had found a clever way around that, using her own curse to put her at more comfort and to get himself a little deeper. They were silent all the way up the stairs and through the portrait hole. She said nothing to him before stomping up the stairs towards her dormitory, the only two students awake in the common room barely noticing their arrival.

She shut herself in her four poster and slept in her clothes, her hair still messy from that evenings events. She hoped the students in the common room hadn't noticed that. She doubted she'd be able to sleep, but then her racing mind had tired her out faster than she expected.

The next morning at breakfast, she tried her damnedest to act normal. 'Normal' was nearly impossible when she considered that last night, she'd given oral sex to a man who was not her boyfriend, sitting beside her with his hand on her thigh. That last night, she'd done the unthinkable. Normal became even harder when she heard a whisper and a thought shoved its way into her mind - Draco's cock deep in her mouth, a bead of saliva threatening to drip down her chin. Her eyes widened, looking across the room, down the table. What was it about paranoia that made people think that anyone around them could read their thoughts?

"Hermione? You okay?"

"Yes, Harry. I'm fine."

"Alright, you looked a little... what did Malfoy have to say to you?"

Hermione jumped. "He... Malfoy?"

Harry looked at her like she'd just spoken another language. "Yes, Malfoy. He just walked right behind you. Bent down and whispered something to you."

So that was it. She whipped her head in the direction of the doors at the end of the Great Hall to see him staring at her, his face an unreadable mask. He'd snuck right by her friends and dropped the image in her mind, just to remind her. As if she needed reminding.

"Right. Just something about Patrol last night. McGonagall is having us try a new... a new path. Says that students have been memorizing the paths and sneaking around the prefects to stay out later. He was just making sure I remembered the prefect meeting, I'd left the room at the time."

"Malfoy was reminding you? As if he needed to." Ron snorted, shoveling another bite of eggs into his mouth. Harry laughed, turning towards Hermione.

"And what's the deal with that, anyway? Malfoy's never done a good thing in his life, let alone remind you of something."

She nearly spit out her juice, but righted herself quickly. "Well, can't explain that. Not at all."

Ron didn't look at her twice, but something about Harry's lingering gaze frightened her. He couldn't possibly know what had happened last night, not that he would even have an inkling of an idea of everything coming together. Her curse. Malfoy knowing. Malfoy's orders. Her own curiosity. She smiled at Harry as best as she could, looking down into her plate. Staring back at her was a breakfast sausage. It wasn't nearly as large as the one she'd just seen again in her thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

"Is everyone present?" McGonagall took a sweeping look down the long table usually meant for staff meetings. The days classes had been unbearably short, hardly leaving Hermione enough time between the current Prefect's meeting and the fiasco in the Great Hall this morning that had resulted in Hermione vibrantly remembering what had happened just the night before. How had a handful of classes passed in what seemed like minutes? It had seemed like mere seconds between the end of Defense Against the Dark Arts (which now more closely resembled a free afternoon spent studying) and the moment that Ron had grabbed her hand, rambling on about Quidditch tryouts being the next week and the lists being handed out at the Prefects meeting, which they were now headed to. She'd nearly forgotten Ron would be there at all - how did someone as scatterbrained as her boyfriend end up as a Prefect in the first place? - but now she'd be sitting next to him for nearly half an hours worth of reporting and planning while Draco sat just more than an arms reach from her. He was only one seat away and across the table. The distance was startling, though, when compared to the proximity of the two of them from the night before. Then her brain clicked into a more logical drive - could there be negative distance between two things? Did an entrance count as zero distance? Especially an entrance of that length...

"Miss Granger?" She felt fire in her cheeks. McGongall, along with the seven prefects besides herself in the room, were all staring at her. She'd been asked a question, one she'd wholly and completely missed.

"I'm sorry, Headmistress, I've been a little distracted today. Can you repeat the question?"

"I was asking how your patrols have been. Your patrol partner says all has been well, and that you've been able to apprehend at least three students out of bed in the last week."

It was true, after all. Even though the two nights had been spent only half patrolling the corridors, they had managed to catch three separate groups of students out of bed between the two nights, mostly right at the beginning and mostly younger students who thought they could sneak out without being caught.

"Y-Yes, we have." She tossed her hair behind her shoulder, clearing her head. "That's on the old route. Most of them were younger students, so I figure they haven't quite memorized the path yet, as the older students have had years to do. That probably has something to do with why we catch less and less older students out of bed each year. If you sneak out even once a month, after a few years you'll have run into prefects a dozen times and can figure out where they'll be at what time. We're too predictable."

McGonagall nodded, sighing. "You're in favor, then, of a new route around the castle and the grounds?"

"I am."

"And would you and your partner, who also supports the change, be willing to work out this new route yourselves? I have no doubt that, between an old Slytherin troublemaker and a young lady who has been known to be able to sneak around Hogwarts enough to even get off grounds, you should be able to map a path that includes all of the weaknesses in the current route."

She could see a flicker of a smirk on Draco's face, little more than a twitch of the lips. This meant more time for patrols, learning and practicing the new route - this meant, likely, time outside of patrols in which they'd have to meet, probably in private, to map a route that only the prefects would know from now on. She had no choice. To refuse would be to alert everyone in the room to the fact that something bad was happening on their patrol nights, and then questions would be asked. She couldn't handle those questions. But what would it mean if she had to meet him more than the already mandatory twice a week? She _still_ had no choice. "Yes, I'd be willing."

"Excellent. You'll begin this afternoon. One last thing, I'm attempting to keep this meeting short. Quidditch tryouts will take place next week, on varying days. Prefects that have been a part of teams in the past should take note that their previous team tryouts will not take place on either day they have scheduled for patrol, but that I cannot guarantee the availability of being able to try out for another team. As many of you have guessed, the Quidditch teams will also be of mixed houses. While a Slytherin is still a Slytherin, he will be accepted onto any other house team if he so chooses to tryout and is acceptable to the team captain. However, to maintain a sense of fairness, it will be noted that if any player is barred from a team based on his or her previous house affiliation, then the captain who so chooses to make such exclusions will have his or her captaincy removed. Are we clear?"

Though this seemed to be a less agreeable point than the planning of a new patrol route, the number of Quidditch playing Prefects in the room all nodded and mumbled their acceptance. Beside Hermione, Ron looked especially put out. This would mean having to open the team to anyone of any house, and he'd been hoping that the one thing that could remain pure was Quidditch, the most competitive and separative thing of them all.

At this McGonagall dismissed them, ending the meeting. As the eight prefects filed out of the room, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Ron was in front of her, which only left one person who would bother. She whirled around outside the door to see Draco, just as she'd suspected.

"Our responsibility to plot a new route. I wonder who could have suggested _that_ to her."

"It wouldn't matter if you did, Malfoy. In all honesty and with both of our histories, we really would be the best two to plan a new route."

"Then my suggestion didn't fall on deaf ears. I've got something to pick up in my dormitory, and then we should meet and begin. I'd like to get some work done before dinner, don't you think?"

She nodded stiffly, feeling Ron slide his hand into hers. "You alright, Hermione? Hey, leave her alone Malfoy. She's tired."

Draco chuckled, turning on his heel. Only Hermione understood what he said as he walked away.

_I bet she is._

* * *

Ron was perfectly fine with wandering the hallways for a few minutes, even daring to plant a chaste kiss on her lips when they briefly found themselves alone in a corner, no matter how bright it was. Hermione had immediately wanted to pull back, remembering where her mouth had been the night before and what Ron would think of her if he could somehow tell despite the fact that she'd brushed her teeth a total of six times since then, twice until her gums bled a little. There was no way he could tell, especially judging by the little smile on his face when he pulled back and lead her around the corner again. It was hardly a kiss, it hardly lasted a second, and that's what worried her. She'd found herself more excited by the forced, rushed, heated moments Draco had ordered onto her than she'd had in her entire relationship with Ron. It had seemed, since they'd returned to school, that Ron's excitement at their relationship had lessened considerably, and that she were now just an accessory as opposed to what she'd meant to him before, what he'd wanted that summer.

When she finally mustered the courage to return to the common room, she spotted Draco immediately. He wasn't surrounded by his usual minions at all, and instead chose to sit in the one solo chair in the room, in the dim back corner farthest from the window. On the small desk beside him, a small stack of parchment rolls sat next to a few quills and a half-empty bottle of ink.

"There's only an hour and a half until the next meal, so I'd prefer to start sooner rather than later." He barely looked in her direction. Ron gripped her hand, but she shook him off. She knew that this meeting could lead to Draco trying something else out on her, maybe something she wasn't ready for, but she couldn't let that fear show. She couldn't risk anyone else knowing about what plagued her.

"It's probably for the best. The sooner we start, the sooner it's over."

"Whatever you say, Granger."

She turned to Ron, who looked more than a bit put out. It was clear he'd wanted to spend more time with her. She wanted to spend time with her too, but everything that was happening was making things quite complicated. Perhaps they'd have some time after dinner, and if not she would plan it out so that she had a Draco-free weekend without patrol, meetings, or anything else.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I'd love to stay, but you were at the meeting. It really must be done."

Ron nodded, frowning quite a bit at the floor. "Yeah, I get it. 'S fine. I'll go find Harry, he's got to be around somewhere and I've got to break the news about Quidditch to him eventually." He kissed her cheek, turning to climb the stairs to the dormitory two by two.

She watched him go until she heard Draco clear his throat behind her. "As McGonagall has made clear, this sort of planning can't be done out in the open. We'll have to find somewhere private."

"I understand exactly what you're saying Draco, and I don't need to hear it. I've known since the meeting, I've known exactly what this means. I don't like it, but you and I both know I have no other choice."

Draco raised a brow, without letting a hint of a smile betray his feelings. "Privacy is key, isn't it?"

He stood without waiting for her to answer what she knew to be a rhetorical question, gathering the things in his hands, and lead her back out the portrait hole. He walked ahead of her through a maze of corridors and down a half dozen sets of stairs until he finally opened a door, as far down as the dungeons but only half as depressing. It was just under the first floor, an odd sort of level with only a small window at the top of each of two walls. She knew these windows well from time spent out of the castle, but had never ventured to find out what room they belonged to, knowing that it was likely just a set of scarcely used practice rooms down the hall from the kitchens. It was due to the odd placement that this room had windows at all, and due to the nature of Hogwarts itself she knew that this room might only pop up every few days, if that often at all, making it an ideal room for hiding out in or, in this case, finding a private place to draw out a map and avoid commands.

And a practice room it was - low-ceilinged, roughly square, and half the size of a classroom. The windows didn't let in much light, seeing as how the sun was on the other side of the castle and setting quickly, but a few lamps on each of the walls allowed it to be light enough to see. Draco shut the door behind them, flicking his wand as he did, and a table and two chairs came from the walls into the center of the room, a lamp flying from a closet somewhere opposite them to rest in the center of the table. With another flick of his wand, the dirty windows closed the last inch that they'd been open, and Draco wordlessly set out the materials on the table. After arranging them to what was apparently a most ideal situation for him, he simply looked back at her.

"Are you coming, or not? We've got work to do."

"You're not going to force me to do something else?"

"I haven't decided yet. But you have to remember, Granger, I have a certain amount of strategy to keep too. For the moment, I quite like being the only one to know about your... dilemma. While you intend to keep your secret, as well as the secret of what has been happening, I do too. Which means that when we are assigned work, we have work to do, and no number of ridiculous ideas in either of our heads is enough to risk your problem being found out because we couldn't write a simple route through the castle. Are we understood?"

She nodded, blinking away tears. She had thought that it would be torture, but it wasn't. That was the entire problem. She should hate this, she should be desperately trying to escape this prison of a curse, but she wasn't. She was just trying to find a way to keep it from getting too far, too fast, and to keep it from being known by everyone. He was right.

"Now come on, Granger. Sit here beside me."

She felt her legs move forward, though she wouldn't have tried to deny this simple command. Draco rolled out a bit of parchment that had a layout of the ground floor of the castle, including the grounds.

"I've got maps of every floor and tower in the castle. I think it pertinent to mark the areas that we know, as we are, to be ideal for sneaking out, hiding out, or otherwise breaking rules before or after curfew. This includes the corridor that houses the Room of Requirement, the doors leading outside the castle, the many breakaway halls with practice rooms such as this, and the paths to the greenhouses, which I didn't know previous to this year are a sort of hideaway for sneaky Hufflepuffs who want to snog each other in trees. Ridiculous."

"There are so many places to hide out in Hogwarts, on so many different days... this is a big project."

"I wasn't aware of the scale of the thing until McGonagall handed me these maps, no." He shook his head, leaning forward to bend his head over the maps. She could smell him from here, he'd clearly showered recently. Something earthy, almost woodsy, and altogether far from what she'd thought. She'd been expecting him to reek of expensive cologne or aftershave, a favorite of most older Slytherin boys and some in Ravenclaw, but instead he smelled like he simply used a pleasant smelling soap.

"The bathrooms, too. The unused ones, especially. Moaning Myrtle's room, the bathroom on the sixth floor..."

"The one where Potter tried to kill me, I clearly remember that one." He rolled out the rest of the parchment, weighing down the corners with a sticking charm and taking notes where appropriate. "This castle is quite a spectacle. I must have gotten lost a hundred times in just the first month."

"It doesn't help that the path to a certain place may be different one year than the next."

"Or even the next day, of course. I once went from the Potions dungeon to Divination in less than three minutes."

Hermione started. "How on earth did you manage that? It took me at least eight minutes."

"That's probably because you're weighed down with half the library in your book back. But in all reality, I'm not sure. Another trick of the castle. I turned a corner expecting to find a back staircase I prefer using over the crowded main, and after one longer than usual flight up I found myself at the top of the North Tower. Another trick of Hogwarts itself."

"That's ridiculous."

"You're just jealous because Hogwarts never paid you any favors, Granger."

"That's not true! In Sixth year, when I was avoiding Ron eating Lavender's face off near a window, I thought to myself that I wished there were another way to get around them to Charms class, and a door slid into view on my left. I took it, and walked straight through into the end of the Charms corridor. I had been two floors up and halfway around the castle at the time."

"You're lying."

"I am not!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're making this too easy, Granger. Tell me you're lying."

She didn't like it - she hadn't been lying at all, and though she'd never told anyone else the way that the castle had done her a favor, she didn't like that even someone like Draco thought she was lying. But he'd ordered her to. "I... I'm lying."

"Tut tut, Granger. Lying is bad."

"I'm well aware. I wasn't."

"But you just admitted to it."

"On your orders."

He grinned. "Regardless. I don't like the way you're mouthing off, again, and while I'd love to relive a little of last night, we've got work to do so we'll handle this another way. Stand here beside me." He pushed his chair back, and as soon as she'd stood beside his legs he reached forward and pulled her school tie downwards so that her torso lay across his lap. She was aware of the fact that her skirt had ridden up, exposing her cheeky cut plain black cotton underwear. Draco seemed to have done this on purpose, as he leaded towards her body and peered behind her, flipping her skirt up the rest of the way so that it hung around her waist.

"Well, Granger. I'd expected something along the lines of what McGonagall would wear, but you've surprised me by being fractionally less modest than someone that ancient." He looked her over - the long planes of the backs of her thighs, thin and slightly pale. The surprising rise of a perky little bum, covered only halfway by a thin bit of black cotton. "You've been a bad girl, Granger."

"And you're being a cheesy git and I don't like it."

"I haven't even started yet. How do you know you won't like it?"

She was aware, now, of his plan. It should have been obvious. She'd never considered the idea - Ron was far from the sort of man who'd want to do something like that to her, and she was far from the sort of young woman who would want something like that done to her. Or so she'd thought, before she felt his fingers trail up the backs of her legs, stopping just short of the flesh of her bum.

"I just know."

"Well, it's not like you Granger to make an assumption without proper experimentation and studying. I'd rather try it out and make sure, and it'll be all the better for me to try instead of assume that you won't like it because you're usually such a wound up little prude."

The last comment stung. She wasn't a prude, she just wasn't as audacious as some girls. She'd known for quite some time that most girls in her year had gone much farther with boyfriends or flings. She was the only virgin in her dormitory. But what she'd been a part of for the last week was anything but angelic. She huffed, choosing to not say anything and make it worse for herself.

"I'm going to spank you, Granger. And if you speak against me again, or lie to me, I will spank you again, whenever I please, whenever I can find the time, until your arse is raw. Do you understand?"

She nodded, and he apparently saw it because his hand slid over the tops of her thighs and her bum, pulling the black cotton over her cheeks until she was fully exposed on both sides and his hand settled in the middle of her bum. He had large hands, and when one of them gently squeezed one globe of flesh on one side, it was all she could do to stifle a small gasp. How could Draco gripping her bum be sexual? It was just a bum, and...

His hand pulled away for a fraction of a second, before it smacked back against her cheeks. It didn't hurt, but she knew it was just a warmup as he ran his palm lightly over the spot he'd just smacked. It had still made her jump a little, and he reached one hand back under her torso to grab at her school tie and hold her in place while he drew his other hand back and brought it back down again before running his hand over her a few seconds. This time it stung, he'd hit much harder. He drew back again, this time hitting the hardest so far, so that she let out a little cry from the smarting. Strangely enough, she didn't want to cry, she didn't want to shout. And the soothing that happened between spanks, the few moments where his fingers deftly brushed over her stung skin, gave her enough time to nearly anticipate the next smack. His hold on her tie didn't make it any easier for her, because she found herself struggling against it only for the sake of struggling, and it in no way hurt her or displeased her.

She was a goner. Why was it that curiosity always won out? Why did women enjoy this? Why was _she_ enjoying this? He brought his hand back down a fourth time, then moved his hand and let his fingers brush the underside of her bum.

Without a seconds hesitation, without the full knowledge of her brain, her body betrayed her and she pushed her hips back into his hand. She heard him chuckle, his fingers tracing the bottom of her flesh.

"Ah, mouthy Granger likes being spanked. I should have known, really, what with the way you're a glutton for self-punishment and all things painfully awful. You practically torture yourself half the time anyway, I should have expected that you'd enjoy this." She could hear the smile in his voice, and it was all but disgusting.

She didn't have time to retort as he spanked her once more in a flash, quicker than before. The small cry of the smarted skin turned into a garbled shout, something she couldn't quite identify. She panted, drawing in deep breaths while his free hand roamed her smooth bum. The hand on her bum shifted down, down, down until she knew suddenly what he was aiming for. Instead of a full on attack, however, his fingers barely brushed two fleshy lips that stuck out just at the apex of her thighs. She couldn't help it, there was one word for what she did then - she quivered, especially when his fingertip slip easily against a pool of moisture that had likely appeared over the last few minutes.

"First you make it too easy, then you make it too difficult. It's hard for me to remain where I am right now, to draw out this little game. I could just... but I won't. That's enough for now." He let go of her tie and instructed her to stand again. When she did, he instructed her to sit on his lap for the remainder of their meeting, which she immediately thought was childish despite the fact that her knees were already bending and she was already seated nicely across his legs.

He grinned with an air that was equal to patting her on the head, and pointed to the desk in front of them. "Now, back to the maps."

* * *

Though the next hour had been considerably short on demands, Hermione had still felt as uncomfortable as ever while she'd sat on Draco's lap. He would shift every once in a while, his hips pressing up against her, until he settled back down again and ran fingertips up her thighs. It had heightened her senses to the point at which when they had spent the remainder of their time marking the easiest spots to sneak around and they finally left the room, Hermione nearly ran the other direction when she saw Harry and Ron walking a few steps ahead of her in a corridor. Would they be able to tell? They hadn't known anything was off that morning, but it hadn't been so soon after. Just five minutes ago she'd been sitting on Draco's lap, he'd been touching her legs, making her skin crawl a little in a way that wasn't completely unpleasant. Her skin still stung over her bum, and she knew it would be at least red if there weren't a serious outline of his hand on her. After a few moments hesitation, she called out to her best friends. Not calling them would be more suspicious than how jumpy she felt, and she had a question to ask Harry anyway.

Luckily they were already on the subject of Quidditch, talking about players from all four houses and who they would most like to see on a team. It seemed Rons bad attitude about mixed house teams had all but disappeared as he had realized that it meant that all the best players from the houses would be trying to form their own teams. Though there wouldn't be an official cup as of now, since McGonagall considered it too much of a competitive icon in the school, it went without saying that the teams would be marking their own victories and points to decide who _would_ have won the cup.

"So anyone can join, then?" Hermione asked.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, and instead of one or two players trying to switch, it's madness. Demelza Robbins isn't sure she wants to play for Gryffindor, and she says that most of the Slytherin team is disbanding and attempting to make their own teams with the best players."

Harry grunted. "And the only thing we know so far is that there are four captains, one from each of the previous houses, and that we're all basically stuck. Me, Draco Malfoy, Zacharias Smith, and Michael Corner. Unless one of them chooses to give up their captaincy to join another team, and that's unlikely except for Corner, we're all basically going to have to fight over the best players. If one good player tries out for a few different teams, and all of them want him - or her - then there's going to be a lot of trouble as to who gets who."

"Whom, Harry. It's whom." At least she could correct Harry properly while she was this distracted. She'd only thought of one thing Draco had said while looking over the maps. "But Malfoy said something earlier - something about Slytherin's team not doing exactly as everyone thought. I think they might be trying to plant people into different teams to... I don't know, I don't know Quidditch, but give up secrets or something. Or to toss games."

"Matches, Hermione. But yeah, we've thought about that." Ron shook his head. "It's unfortunate really. Hey, five minutes until dinner. Should head that way, I'm starving..."

Hermione allowed herself to fall behind the boys for a moment, thankful for a moment to herself. Last night she'd been able to sleep between seeing anyone, today she hadn't had that privilege. At least she had the weekend before she had to see Malfoy again, since they wouldn't have patrol until that night and he hadn't mentioned meeting after her lone Saturday class to work on the maps. Or not.

* * *

Harry and Ron had just walked away, down towards the Quidditch pitch to scope out the scene they'd missed so much. Hermione had recently realized that it was different for them than the other players - while Quidditch hadn't happened last year, obviously, other players had occasionally been able to see the pitch, to feel that little bit of motivation and happiness. Harry and Ron hadn't had that, and she figured that their first view of the pitch in a year and a half should be left private. They hadn't played Quidditch on this pitch since before Dumbledore died - that was a rather large shock, even to her.

Saturday classes had been paradise. No classes with Malfoy meant no uncomfortable scenes, no remembering. He hadn't bothered her since the afternoon previous. Sunday had started well, too. She'd spent the day studying and in her dorm with her dormmates. Though she still didn't talk to them as much as they talked to each other, she found herself conversing a little more comfortably with them after what they'd all been through - and, of course, because Hermione had a boyfriend now and they had many, many questions. Lavender ignored those bits of conversation, and Hermione could tell the girl was still hurt over what had happened so long ago. Still, it was nice having people to talk to besides Harry and Ron, even if the conversations that Hermione took place in were few and far between. Having female friends was a bit weird, actually. After a while she'd gone to find Harry and Ron, and had spent some time walking near the lake with them before they announced that they simply must see the pitch.

She walked quickly and carefully through the corridors. Saturday had been Malfoy-free. She only had a few hours left, of course, until she had to retire to her dormitory and await the dawning of Monday and another day of patrol, but they were going to be a blissful few hours spent in total control of her own body.

"Stop."

Damn.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I'd been looking for you. Thought we could work on the map a little."

"I don't want to work this afternoon. Tomorrow, maybe, on patrol. We can work out a few possible new routes."

"We could. But there's just something I _must_ discuss with you."

"What, your little friends didn't want to play with you today?"

"My friends are busy, with things that are of none of your business. Your business, right now, is to follow me. So follow me."

She'd only been a minute from the door to the common room.

"Can't you just leave me alone, for one day?" Her feet planted themselves one in front of the other, right behind Draco.

"I did. Saturday was a day all your own. Two days, though, two days is quite a bit to handle. Especially after your... display on Friday."

"The display where you flipped my skirt up?"

"The display when you pushed your arse back into my hand."

Right. That one. "You're revolting."

"Says the girl who pushed her hips back into me. Up."

She climbed the stairs with him, up two flights to the top of the Astronomy tower. He lead her around a corner, out towards a terrace with a roof and shoulder-height walls with no windows at the top. The breeze rolling over the top was frigid, and Hermione kept her arms folded over her chest for warmth.

"Granger, Granger... you know, I've been thinking about Friday. I've been thinking about the words you've used. Revolting, disgusting, git, and the like. But then I remember the way you've never once yelled out, despite the fact that I only gave that order the first night we met like this. I think of the way you pushed back into my hand, and the wetness I felt when I chose to explore a little further. Everything that comes out of your mouth indicates that you hate me and what I am doing, but everything you do says otherwise. There have been commands - specific, carefully worded demands that you could have acted out a thousand different ways, and yet your actions spoke volumes. Part of you, no matter how disgusted, _likes_ this. Part of you _wants_ this, despite your relationship with the Weasel. I'm entirely sure that he has no idea what's happening, and even though I could order you to tell him everything - the truth or my own made up story - I won't.

"Instead, I think we'll just keep... experimenting. You enjoy it, though you probably won't even admit it to yourself, and I enjoy it, and the thrill that comes with being in control. You were one hundred percent right on that one, Granger, consider it the passing of a very important test. If you'd like, I could give you your prize now. Would you like that? Tell me."

"No. Just... sod off, Malfoy."

"That's not what I want to hear. I know you've enjoyed bits of this. You can either accept your prize willingly and make it that much better for you, or we can do things my way. Do you want your prize?"

"No."

"Then consider this a test failed, and consider this your punishment." He closed the space between them, turning her around and pressing her face-first into the wall. The stone felt cool against her cheek but it was rough, and she was reminded of this when he pressed his face to the side of her head, his nose tracing a line up her cheek.

"Granger, Granger... so smart, but when will you ever learn? With something like _Pareo_ going against you, it's better to just make things as pleasant as you can." His hands gripped her wrists, bringing them up above her head on the wall and pinning them there with his right hand. It was at times like this, she knew, that his height would be beneficial to him. His body pressed up against hers, his free hand tracing down her arm, her back, briefly swiping the side of her chest and her side before stopping on her hip, his fingers pressing into the front of her hip bone as he pulled her to him.

"This was going to go a lot differently... in your favor, even. But you still haven't learned to keep your mouth shut."

She pressed back into him, half to attempt to get herself out from under him, half because the pressure of his body felt exquisite. "How am I supposed to lose control if you're so busy controlling me?"

He chuckled behind her, his fingers crawling forward until they met with the waistband of her skirt. "You let _me_ worry about that, silly girl. I've got plans for you yet..." His fingers dove under the band of her skirt, snaking downwards and stopping just short of an area she wasn't sure if she wanted him to touch. His fingers brushed the smooth skin there, just touching the short bristle of not-so-recently shaven hair.

"Haven't cleaned up in a while? Haven't had a reason to? Is your sad little boyfriend not paying you any attention anymore? Tell me."

"No."

"So I've been the only one touching you for days? The only one doing this to you? Tell me."

"Yes."

"Interesting... cheating on the boyfriend, and he isn't even getting what I'm getting. Poor Ron. I'm sure he'd love to have you back yourself up against him, too."

His hand pulled back out of her skirt from the top and then ran over her hip, backwards, to where the skirt ended at her bottom. His fingers crept up the skin there, and a tingling sensation radiated out from wherever he touched. In an instant, his hand grasped at her, his fingers diving under the fleshy mounds to the small pool of dampness that again gave away her excitement. There was such a perfect pressure behind his fingertips that he seemed to press at the fabric of her underwear without hurting or pushing inwards at all. The movement of his hand, a slow grabbing movement, moved his fingertips over the damp spot over and over, not only spreading it over the fabric but more likely creating even more moisture for him to notice. She bit her lip, not hesitating at all to press herself against his hand. The moment the idea came to her - she wished her underwear were gone, despite the fact that this simultaneously repulsed her and made her fall apart at the seams - his hand pulled away. He used it to turn her over, pushing her back against the wall while keeping her hands high above her head. She followed his eyes down to her chest, which rose and fell with her breaths, and to the two hard nipples standing out against the cold air. She never wore padded bras, didn't see the appeal, but now was the first time she wished she owned them. He raised his brows, stepping in again to push himself against her and her chest. In the moment before she could speak or even catch her breath, his mouth was on hers.

She'd definitely never been snogged like this before - slowly, carefully, but with all the urgency that she'd come to not expect from her own boyfriend. Draco's mouth played with hers, and she found herself quickly giving in, closing her eyes, and enjoying the few moments that hadn't felt like an attack. Too soon, it ended, and it left her gasping for breath.

"Tell me, Granger, what you think of all this."

Her lips moved without her permission. "It's strange. I don't want to like it, I shouldn't like it. But I'm curious. And some parts of it... some things, I like." She kept her eyes closed, unable to say such things to his face.

"Good. Then I'll continue to teach you, to feed your curiosity. What you don't get with Ron Weasley, you'll get with me. And as long as you cooperate, you'll like it. The second you act or speak against me, though, our meetings will begin to revolve around me and my needs with little to no regard for your comfort. Are we clear?"

"Yes." Her eyelids kept together, struggling to stay closed instead of to open and watch his reaction.

His hands released her and she stayed put for a long moment, preparing to open her eyes and face him. When she finally got the nerve, however, she turned to see that she was alone. He'd gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Tell me, Granger, what you think of all this."_

_Her lips moved without her permission. "It's strange. I don't want to like it, I shouldn't like it. But I'm curious. And some parts of it... some things, I like." She kept her eyes closed, unable to say such things to his face._

_"Good. Then I'll continue to teach you, to feed your curiosity. What you don't get with Ron Weasley, you'll get with me. And as long as you cooperate, you'll like it. The second you act or speak against me, though, our meetings will begin to revolve around me and my needs with little to no regard for your comfort. Are we clear?"_

_"Yes." Her eyelids kept together, struggling to stay closed instead of to open and watch his reaction._

_His hands released her and she stayed put for a long moment, preparing to open her eyes and face him. When she finally got the nerve, however, she turned to see that she was alone. He'd gone._

His mouth ached from where he'd snogged her senseless, if only for a moment. He hadn't, in truth, meant to do that. But he'd claimed his ownership over her mouth as he had over her control. It was by no means slow or sensual, it had been rough, spontaneous, hungry. How odd, he thought, that he now hungered for a dirty little snog with a girl the likes of which he was raised to hate. The things he did to her, the times he did them, were all in the heat of the moment. It was hard, being who he was and being used to the likes of Pansy Parkinson throwing her cat at him, to now be without any companionship whatsoever. Not, of course, that it was any excuse for the way his body grew more excited with every moment spent alone with her in a dark classroom or hallway. That was all up to the man downstairs, and unfortunately a second brain caused him to do things that, previously, he would have rather killed himself than do to Granger.

But oh, that pert little bum. That smart little mouth. And that glorious, indomitable, alluring curse that befell her. Whoever placed it on her was long dead, she'd said. Killed right after he'd placed it on her. But the everlasting obedience of Granger was something that Draco would have to thank this man for in the afterlife, if the end of this school year and the quick searches for a simple empty bloody room wouldn't kill him too soon to really get to know her curse and her wants and needs.

In truth, his return to Hogwarts was exactly as he'd stated. He could have fought against them in the war, he could have supported the Dark Lord and flee the country afterwards. That hadn't seemed like the smartest move, nor the one that most closely resembled his life goals which were, firstly, to stay alive and lastly, to remain comfortable and not get shoved off to some desolate country to spend the rest of his miserable life with only his mother and father for companionship. When the time had come to make a decision, and his parents had urged him to join them and go into hiding, he'd refused. Basically told them to sod off, really. He'd broken no laws, committed no real crimes. If he were ever persecuted for his loyalties in the war, he'd make it all very clear - the Dark Lord forbade him from returning to Hogwarts that year, even to watch over other students. Draco himself had been trapped in Malfoy Manor with dozens of Death Eaters and among dozens more murders. He'd never killed, only harmed when forced. Once, he'd been under the Imperius curse and told to use the Cruciatus curse on a young mixed blood couple who had been discovered by Snatchers. His heart wasn't in it, and the crowd around him gave up and went back to whatever it was they'd been doing before.

He wasn't about to hold hands with Potter and spout any nonsense about love and equality, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and realize he'd have to make a new life for himself, probably with a bit of careful planning and fifty white lies. His alliances were only to himself. McGonagall had called him into her office personally, the very first night of the year. Apparently she'd been shocked to learn that he'd actually accepted his return to Hogwarts, and actually boarded the train, not a single dark artifact in sight. He'd laughed, simply musing that a life on the run was no life for him, and since then she'd taken to staying out of his business, except when that business pertained to the fact that he was still, technically, Slytherin prefect. A pair of head students had been chosen from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, probably due to the fact that they were least likely to cause trouble and most likely to do whatever the old Headmistress told them to do. Draco huffed - he was one to talk. What little free time he had between classes, homework, and regular prefect duties, was now delegated to drawing up maps and routes with Granger, studying in the library, or a rare walk through the grounds. In a way, he was doing exactly what she wanted him to do too, without so much as a word. Mostly he did it because that was the routine, but a small part of him held respect for a woman her age who could run a school, battle off ten Death Eaters herself, and get eight people his age to do exactly her bidding without as many words.

He'd left Granger on the tower. In truth, he hadn't expected to meet with her that night at all, but the way her skirt flipped up at the sides, tilting with her hips as she walked... it had been too much. He remembered flipping up the back of that very skirt, smacking his hand hard against her rear. His previous sexual experiences included Pansy, a blonde Slytherin girl two years younger with long thin legs and very little curves, and a foreign Dark Lord sympathizer's daughter, his age but somehow much more sexually advanced. Clearly, wherever she was from, it was a much more casual thing than it was here. It started with her, three years ago, locked in a room in the Manor with a bottle of Firewhiskey. He'd been drunk, so she hadn't known he was so unsteady because he'd never been with a woman before. Pansy had come next, in sixth year, partially out of boredom and partially so she'd shut up about how he always ignored her. It was the last one though, towards the end of sixth year and the following summer in the Manor, when he learned he'd be stuck there for quite some time, that the last girl had come into the picture. Sarah. Her mother was a Death Eater, her father had left before he could receive the Dark Mark and had gone into hiding. She was smaller, more like a girl than a woman, but angular and well-skilled in luring in a male. He'd shagged her within the first weekend of her making herself known to him, and it had continued until she'd run off to join her father, wherever he'd gone. She was the one who wanted it hard, dirty. Pansy had gone as far as suggesting candles one evening, that had been the evening his interactions with her had ceased. Sarah had been the one to drag him into a coat closet in the manor and lift her skirt for him. Sarah had been the first to go down on him. He'd been far from having feelings for the girl, being as young as she was, but it was hard not to think about a girl who had done such things. At the time, she'd seemed like a gift. Now, he thought with a chuckle, he realized she was just a bit of a slag.

Granger was far from a slag. She was a prude, and she was prissy as all hell. But she'd back her arse up against his hand, and it was progress. In truth, the moment he started realizing what was wrong with her, he'd laughed. Leave it to stubborn, headstrong Granger to get hit with a curse forcing her to obey all commands. And leave it to himself, trying only to regain a sense of normalcy, to discover said curse and not have a damned idea what to do with it. It had only been that first night on patrol, when he'd ordered her into the practice room, that he'd begun to get an idea. There had been jokes, of course, between Slytherins. Most had heard that at some point in the previous year, she'd been on the hunt for the Horcruxes alone with Saint Potter. Naturally, a horde of dirty, insinuative jokes ensued. They'd shagged, she'd picked him over Weasley, the like. But Draco himself had sensed otherwise. Granger was just as wound up as she'd always been, and that was because she needed one thing: release. Well, he'd be damned if he could only give it to her through orders, but the experiment and premise was enough, in itself, to tempt him. The nondescript door in the hallway had settled it - there were things he wanted to know, there were things he wanted to investigate, and what better way than to make the famous Gryffindor bookworm lose all control. He thought about it now, hands stuffed in his pockets, just a few steps from the portrait hole that would lead him to the common rooms he now called home. Granger, unwound. Granger out of class, the top button or two undone on her shirt, her tie loose, her wild mane of curls mussed. There were some girls who would look like a hot mess in any such state, but he knew that there was something different about it, in relation to a girl like Granger. Seeing the bookworm undone would be something that, he knew, most men (like himself) would love to see. Only a small part of him spoke out against the rest, saying that it would be _that much more enjoyable_ if it were all of her own free will. If he wasn't forcing her to do it. He pushed that thought aside. Thoughts like that had a time and place, and this was not it.

How long could this last? He wasn't sure. There was an entire school year ahead of them, full of patrols and long nights. She couldn't tell on him, he couldn't say a word. It was, for now, their little secret, one he intended to keep as long as possible. She'd said it herself. She was curious. Some things, she'd liked, even though she hadn't wanted to. He had a feeling he was the first to see, truly, this side of Granger. Her pathetic boyfriend clearly wasn't adept at figuring it out, since the mention of anything physical with Ron made her cringe.

He climbed through the portrait hole, smirking when he saw Potter, the Weasleys, and a small group crowded around them at the fireplace. They were missing a member of their little party, and if they only knew that just minutes ago, Draco had her against a wall, her tongue sliding against his own, making her pant in little short breaths while her chest pressed against him. If only they knew about last week, outside the castle, or why she'd been walking like she'd sat on something painful two nights before. If only, if only.

* * *

Hermione had spent most of Monday pretending that everything was fine. She knew she'd have patrol again with Malfoy that night, she knew something would probably happen. She knew that she was already behind in at least Charms, probably also Potions. Harry had asked her if something was wrong, sensing her detachment from the group and from himself and Ron, and she'd been a step away from confessing it all before she held her tongue. With something this serious, something as serious as her very will and mind, she wasn't sure even Harry could be trusted. Draco Malfoy knowing was bad enough. Although...

Yes, she'd walked away from their encounters feeling used. Yes, she'd been ordered to do those things or to let those things be done to her. Just last night, he'd pushed her up against a wall and groped at her for moments on end. She realized later that night that he hadn't ordered her to stay still, hadn't ordered her to not fight. She could have fought. She didn't. She was being completely honest when she admitted to being curious, to liking some of what happened. She'd been forced to be honest with him, but at that point she was already honest with herself, so she didn't fight that very much, either.

For someone who had fought so valiantly in a war, she could not fight the will and the roaming hand of a man that wanted to show her things she'd never known before. Even if that man wore a little too much hair product and was a bit demeaning, at the best of times.

Unfortunately for Hermione, however, her continued detachment on Ron's part only encouraged him. He seemed to think that Hermione distancing herself from him meant that he must chase after her with twice the usual effort, and though she hadn't had to worry about him trying to touch her on Hogwarts grounds, she'd still have moments where he'd place his hand on her leg, or on her lower back, and she'd simultaneously jerk away and melt into his touch. She didn't want to be intimate with him, but she still loved him. Was that even possible? To love someone so thoroughly, and in such a special way, that physical interactions weren't a part of the picture? She loved Ron, she loved his quirks and the way he loved her too. Why wasn't that enough? And why, especially, wasn't that in her mind when she'd been bucking against Malfoy's hand, wishing her underwear were gone, or...

"Hermione?"

Ron, who was sitting beside her, looked at her with his eyes narrowed.

"Yes, Ron?"

"We've been trying to get your attention. Harry and I can't figure out what Slughorn means about emulsions reacting something or other, with different consistencies... I don't know."

She smiled, glad to be part of a conversation that would distract her from the war that was happening in her head.

"Emulsions are harder to incorporate into thinner potions. If you make something lighter, like the consistency of water, and add something thicker - think something like Polyjuice potion, though you'd have no reason to ever mix that with anything else - the emulsion, which usually includes an oil or a thicker ingredient blended with something thinner, will either float or sink based on its weight as relative to the original potion."

Ron stared at her like she'd spoken gibberish, but Harry seemed to get what she was talking about, or had at least decided to make something up that sounded close to what she'd just said. She explained it to Ron once more, in even simpler terms, and was 'rewarded' with a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks, love. Got stuck on that one..."

"It's the only question, Ron. You got stuck on the entire assignment." She rolled her eyes. It was one essay. NEWT level Potions wasn't something Ron should have been involved with, ever.

She stood, announcing to the two boys that she'd be going upstairs to change into warmer clothes and to shower before patrol, after which she'd go straight to bed. Neither protested, and as soon as she turned to leave them she found herself wiping at her cheek. So much for loving every part of Ron - the little wet spot he'd left after kissing her cheek seemed to burn her skin.

She took a mind-meltingly hot shower, letting the water scald her skin and scalp. She could have waited to shower until after patrol, but by then the temperature could drop five or so degrees and the heater in the dormitories could be off, leaving her dripping wet and freezing. Showering before patrol was clearly the more favorable of the two options, even if she wished she could take this shower _after_ Malfoy handled her, however he handled her.

She ran her hands over her arms, her chest, her stomach, slowing to a stop just over the patch of slight hair growth Malfoy had commented on the night before. He was absolutely right in why it was there - she hadn't been doing anything at all with Ron, and had just gotten a little lazy with her usual hygienic upkeep. She'd been keeping the area clean for years, but a year on the run before the war had kept her from upholding her usual standards. Harry had walked in on her changing once, during the period where Ron had left them, and had stopped to look at her for a fraction of a moment before turning and leaving, muttering an apology. She'd immediately been embarrassed about the hair, and had even gone as far as to having a few minutes of conversation with him about hygiene in which she referenced, jokingly, the patch of hair that he'd seen. The blush in his face told her all she needed to know - that he'd looked at her and hadn't been disgusted. After that he made sure to announce his entry before he got anywhere near the bathroom of the tent or Hermione's corner where she changed by her bunk.

Now, she grazed her fingers over the hair with mild disgust. She had a razor in the little bin she carried to the bathroom, and shaving gel, if she could... there. Found it. She'd take care of this little problem and remain on track with her previous maintenance, if for no other reason than it was significantly less itchy than having hair. Also, she thought with the tiniest hint of a smirk, she was interested to see how Draco would react to her having shaved of her own accord, after his comment. It was a little forward, but she had to have some way of surprising him and momentarily gaining the upper hand after he accosted her like he did. Mouthing off, she remembered, wasn't the best plan. But this was a small, subtle way of holding on to her own will, even if it was something that would also please him.

She toweled off, used a drying charm on her hair, and layered appropriately for the mild weather in a skirt, tights, and a sweater, pausing only briefly when picking underwear to slide on. Did she wear something he might like in hopes of throwing him off guard or even pleasing him enough to keep from being completely used for his pleasure? It was like he'd said Sunday night... _in your favor, even._ Then she remembered what he'd said just before that. _With something like Pareo going against you, it's better to just make things as pleasant as you can_. She scowled, grabbing a rather unused pair from the bottom of the little bag within her trunk. She'd only ever worn them after she'd first bought them. Ron didn't even know they existed, but Malfoy would.

Most of the night would be spent patrolling the old path, but this week would also include writing out a new path to try out on Thursday. If the new path were successful, they would catch more students. More students to catch and turn in or reprimand meant less time spent alone. Less time for him to give orders. Hermione vowed, pulling on her boots, to get that map finished as quickly as she could.

He was waiting for her just outside the portrait hole, as usual. The Fat Lady was looking at him with clear contempt, and he had sneered back at her once before Hermione swung the frame forward.

"I apologize if I broke off your little staring contest, but we've got work to do."

He raised his brows, face otherwise unchanged. "Indeed we do." He started walking before she could say anything else, leaving her to walk quickly enough to catch up to him.

He said nothing. He did nothing. No orders, no commands. Her core ached, her head ached. Part of her wanted to know what he had planned, part of her was disgusted for even thinking about it. The first hour passed with not so much as a word from him, and it was hard to hide her curiosity. They twice walked past a practice room or empty classroom that he'd previously forced her into. He'd glance momentarily at the door, and continue on as if nothing were wrong. Another half hour passed, and with only thirty minutes left in patrol, he sighed, looking at yet another doorway she'd barely noticed before.

"In."

Part of her was excited. She suppressed a grin. He had almost made it seem like nothing was going to happen. Shouldn't she have been happy in that case? Why was her heart beating out of her chest?

He shut the door and locked it behind them, loosening his school tie, which he wore with only his white shirt and black slacks and belt. He hadn't changed before patrol, though she'd seen him at one point that evening rushing through to exit the common room. Perhaps he'd been busy elsewhere. Who knew. She couldn't be bothered to think too much about it, because he was summoning a chair and table from the opposite side of the room, placing them down in front of him before he dropped into the chair with none of his usual decorum, letting out a sigh.

She didn't dare speak, or breath. She could upset him, and that could go one way or another, good or bad.

"I had no plans for you, tonight, Granger. I didn't."

"Why?" It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and her immediate embarrassment was clear. For the first time, and in some sort of strange relief to her, his mouth quivered into the ghost of a smirk.

"Why? Why, Granger, were you anticipating something?"

She didn't answer, he didn't force her to. These encounters were torture. She was curious to know what would happen, what it would feel like, how much he enjoyed it or if she was just his little pet. She wanted to run. She wanted to sit on his lap again. She wanted to snog him senseless and also to hit him harder than she had in third year.

He looked up at the ceiling, shoving his hands into his pockets. "This is a rather odd situation, isn't it?" The smirk was back, and whatever mood had fallen over him before was all but gone. Hermione let out a little breath, relieved. He seemed less calm now, which in a way that only made sense when relating to Draco Malfoy, made him seem less volatile. She nodded, humming her agreement from between her lips.

He looked at her, standing again, hands still in his pockets. He stepped so close to her she could smell him again, woodsy and almost peppery. "You understand now, at least, that this little arrangement is completely under my control. You're learning. And I'd like to teach you a whole lot more than I've shown you so far."

She said nothing, moved nothing. Part of her feared what he meant, part of her ached to know what it might feel like to truly want.

"Little Granger. Bookworm, prissy, prudish Granger. Well, as prudish as you can be when you're hiding cheeky black panties under your school skirt."

Still nothing. She waited.

"What do you want, Granger?"

"I don't have any idea. This situation is as new to me as it is to you, though I'm guessing you have infinitely more experience than I do in this realm."

He chuckled, circling her, eying his prey. "I have more experience, certainly, though not so much as common gossip suggests. I have been with precisely three girls, two of which I will never see again and one of which I hope I never have to. You know the latter, of course, and in that case the rumors are true. I did involve myself with Pansy Parkinson, though more in an effort to shut her up and to also please myself. She no longer attends Hogwarts school, and I am glad for that. The other two were mostly trivial, flings. I have enough experience with experienced enough girls to know what to do, what I like. I don't know, exactly, what you like. But this isn't really all about you, is it? I'm the one with the command, you're the one with the curse."

She parted her lips, breathing hard. "What is it, then, that you want?"

He seemed to contemplate the question for a moment before shaking his head. "You know the answer to that. I want you to entirely lose control. I want to see the bookworm unbound, so to speak. Doesn't that idea excite you, even a little?"

"Yes."

"I didn't force you to answer."

"You didn't have to. I know what you're doing, Malfoy. I'm not an idiot. While you're using me for whatever form of pleasure you're pursuing, part of this is definitely about me. Part of this is about pleasing me, releasing me. Don't pretend it's not."

"You're being rather feisty..."

"Only in terms of the truth. It isn't accusatory, isn't rude, it's only the truth."

He stopped circling her, standing in front of her and slipping his hands from his pockets. Her hands dropped from her hips and he grabbed her wrists, holding tightly. "It is indeed the truth. And you'd better remember it. I'm not being excessively cruel. I'm sure you know, given your levels of anxiety and your smarts, that I could do much worse with this curse than what I am doing. I could force you into public humiliation, into adultery of the worst kind. I could force you to kill, to hurt, to betray everyone you love, and I could do it all behind the fact that, if directed, you could never tell anyone that someone was forcing you to do all of it. Instead, I flip up your skirt and comment on your panties. I make you want something. And isn't that, in comparison, a good thing?"

"It's hard to compare the two. One is the end of my life-"

He interrupted, "And the other is the beginning of discoveries you'll be glad to have made, one day. You still stand by not wanting to do this, but liking parts of it? Tell me what you're most afraid of."

"That I'll anger you and you'll make me do bad things. Or that you'll want more from me than I'm willing to give." She sealed her lips, but tears did not even threaten to come. Her pulse was racing. No, if she didn't have this curse and hadn't already experienced what she had, she'd never consider that she might be involved with Draco Malfoy. But she had this curse, she'd experienced those things, and a sick little part of her had liked it. He was right. It was, in some twisted way, for her own benefit.

He dropped her wrists, standing back. "What did you do before patrol tonight? Study? Hide?"

Damn him, always asking the right questions. "I took a shower and shaved."

His eyes betrayed his controlled demeanor. "Oh. Well, I see." He chuckled briefly, letting his fingertips graze the material of her non-school uniform skirt. It was a favorite of hers, soft and just a little swingy. "Or well, I don't see. Yet. Did you shave for me? Tell me."

"Yes, sort of."

"Sort of?"

She smiled. He hadn't ordered the truth from her, so he'd get the full brunt of her mind. "I shaved so that I could knock the stupid grin off your face in a moment of surprise, as I just did."

At this he laughed, a full laugh that seemed completely out of character for him. "I'd like to see you try... If you weren't such a stuck up little thing, Granger... well, that's for another night. I want to see. Let's see if you can knock the grin off my face with what you've got hiding under there. Sit up on the table, face the chair."

She did as instructed, knees tight together. He shook his head.

"How am I supposed to inspect you if keep your legs shut?"

"How are you supposed to inspect me with my tights on?" She cocked her head to one side, waiting. Ron had put his hand down there, but had never looked. She had used a mirror once or twice to make sure she wasn't highly irregular looking, and deemed herself normal. Irregularity, in this case, could have been a major move towards not being bothered anymore by Malfoy, but she wasn't sure that was her end goal, and not so soon.

He nodded, sitting on the chair and facing her knees. His hands ran up the backs of her calves, slowly over her knees, her outer thighs. His fingers reached, pressing softly into her hips until he reached the tops of her tights, edging his fingertips over the band. He looked up at her, keeping eye contact while he pulled the fabric down. He paused when he could pull no further, and with only a small prompting ( _Lift, Granger)_ she lifted her hips off the surface of the desk and lowered them as soon as the fabric has passed her rear. He pulled them down over her thighs, the air of the room cool on her skin. He let go then, taking them one leg at a time, lifting her leg to straighten while he pulled the tights off from her toes. He was undressing her, in the least vulgar way she could think of, given the situation. She trembled.

But oh, the panties. He still had those to find, and she grinned as his palms landed on her thighs again. He pulled her knees apart slightly, running his hands up her legs until he could flip up her skirt, bunching it around her hips. It was then that he saw them - not racy whatsoever, but that would be the draw of the thing. They were similar, really, to her pair from a few nights before, only pure white, considerably smaller, and a tad scrunched on the hems. She heard his intake of breath and what sounded like an uttered swear. His fingers spread, feeling the skin on her thighs, his fingertips playing with the edges of her panties.

She dared not say a word, for fear of interrupting this. There wasn't a trace of disgust on his face, not a trace of the composed, controlling man from earlier. His curiosity equaled hers, she was pleased to see, and her presentation was not unappreciated. He groaned.

"Girly little things, aren't they? Well, well. We'll have to do away with these, though I think I'll keep them intact, for another day. He hooked his fingers on the tops, sliding them down her thighs, over her knees, her ankles, off her feet...

Until she was naked from the waist down, legs shut again. He nudged at her knees but she did not immediately respond, so he had to tell her to spread her legs a little and let him get a look at her. The moment the cool air hit the moisture between her legs, (moisture that had most certainly showed through her panties, probably enticing the groan) she knew she was a goner. It was only a matter of time before he could force her to do _almost_ anything he wanted.

* * *

Shit, she was perfect. _Shit_. In a three-deep row of girls ready to throw themselves at him, he'd never taken a moment to appreciate a demure woman, a woman who could be alluring without being a slag. White ruched panties were girlish, yes, but the little damn damp spot between her legs and the way the fabric had pulled against the apex of her thighs... that was attractive in a way he'd never known he wanted. Paired with her usual wit being redirected towards sarcastic avoidance of sexual topics... she was making this extremely hard for him to draw out and enjoy. Truth be told, he wanted to take his time with Granger, to build her up and make her really curious before going all in. She was a virgin, but she'd been touched. But never, he knew, never like this. She'd been touched in the way that young people touch each other when they have no bloody idea what they're doing, in the inexperienced and unappreciative way that he expected Ron Weasley had done. Now, he had her legs open to him, sitting on a table, while he sat up straight in the chair in front of her. She was totally exposed, looking straight ahead at the wall, her breathing shaky.

It was all he could do to slow this down, to restrain himself. He already felt the pressure in his pants that meant he could burst free if given the chance. He was roused, not quite fully hard. If he were, he could...

But not tonight. He tossed her panties aside, looking a little closer at the marvel before him. She was perfect. Pale lips, nothing wriggling or hanging out from between them except a tiny hint of a nub, peeking through near the top. She had indeed shaved, though it wasn't immediately apparent that she'd ever had hair at all, she looked so smooth. He brought his hands to the tops of her thighs, letting his thumbs run down over the mound of flesh, down to the lips, all the way to the bottom, towards the area the damp spot had come from. She was wet, that was certain, and since removing her panties it seemed to have only spread slightly upwards and around, glistening a little against the dim light of the room. He let his thumbs run over that spot, and was nearly startled when she was, jerking around a little at his touch.

He paused, waiting to see if she might jump up, protest, but she did not. Or could not. He couldn't be sure. Instead she took a deep breath, closing her eyes, her bottom lip tucked between her rows of neat, straight teeth.

He continued his ministrations, running one thumb through the dampness, spreading it upwards with his touch. He dipped the digit between her lips, pressing slightly against her. He heard her breaths, light and shaky, the only noise in the room. Her head was tilted back now, her chest arched into the air. She was waiting for him to touch her in the exact spot that she wanted to be touched most. She wasn't fighting it, not hard anyway. Her hips slid forward an infinitesimal distance, hardly a movement at all, but it caused his thumb to slide upwards, and he felt the little protrusion against his thumb.

She drew a deep breath, pushing her hips forward into his hand. He slid his thumb over her clitoris, back and forth. He started slowly, teasingly, until she began to buck against his hand. He dropped his thumb, instead using his first two fingers on his dominant hand to rub her quickly, while the first finger of the right hand lowered itself to her opening, teasing around the entrance. He was using his knowledge as best as he could, given the situation, and she was panting again. He was hard as a rock, and each little moan of pleasure that came from her sent his cock twitching in his pants. If she kept up like this, without even knowing...

He slid a finger inside of her, causing her to wince slightly. She was tight, very much so, and his mind became temporarily clouded with that notion. Tight. Wet. He slid his finger all the way in, to the knuckle. His fingers weren't particularly wide, but they were a bit long, given his height. He slid another finger next to the first, pressing against her opening until she allowed him in, two fingers doing two different actions on two different places of her. He worked his left hand over the outsides, those soft pale pink lips, while the two fingers he could squeeze into her pumped away, slicked by a wetness that was because of him, because of what he did to her. Her breathing steadied, running in time with the fingers that dove into her, curling slightly so as to hit the very best spot. He could sense her building excitement quickly, her mewls of pleasure turned into whispers without words and movements of her hips into his hand.

She could have gasped, she could have said nothing. Instead, as her orgasm tensed her entire body and rocked through her core, she said his name.

"Oh, gods, Draco..."

He came in his pants. A quick spell could fix that, clean up the mess, but who cared, at that moment? Granger's head was still tilted up towards the ceiling, eyes closed and cheeks flushed. Her chest rose and fell visibly while she caught her breath. His fingers, still inside her, felt the pulsation of her inner walls around them, and they became even more totally coated with her fluid. When he finally removed them from inside of her, she cursed.

He took the next moments of relative calm to stand and grab his wand from the side of the desk, silently clean the mess in his pants, and straighten his shirt. In the time it took for him to do that, Hermione had shut her legs like a vice, her eyes wild and locked on him. He didn't say a word, couldn't. He...

"What did you just cast?"

He blinked. She saw that?

"Nothing. Nothing. Just... nothing at all."

"I saw you do a spell."

"I was cleaning off my hand, alright?"

"Then your magic's awful. I can see your fingers from here." She covered her mouth with her hand, and he laughed. She had a quick mouth. She was right though - he hadn't cleaned his hand yet. Damn her.

"I had another... mess to clean up. Don't mention it."

And oh, she wouldn't. Now that he'd said it, he knew she wouldn't. But stopping her from mentioning it was not the same as making her forget it, though he doubted her curse could do that and he didn't have the balls to put a memory charm on her. It would have to be good enough. She grinned behind her hand, lowering it to rest on her knee. She said nothing as as she slid off the desk, grabbed her tights from the ground, and slid them back on under her skirt, straightening it and heading for the door. She thought it would be that easy, did she?

"Not so fast. Stop."

She whirled around to face him, but could not step forwards or back.

He let out a huff. He could have just let her go. He could have just... but he hadn't. She'd said his _name_ , for gods sake. How could he just let her run off?

He began slowly, carefully. "If I could... if I hadn't just... well, let's say things did not go as planned. This was not supposed to be all about you. I hope you enjoyed it - it won't be frequent." He stepped forward, gaining control of his words once more. "But since I can only do so much, I'll just make one last _request_ of you." He grinned, and he knew by the roll of her eyes that _she_ knew it would be more than just a request.

"Tomorrow you'll attend your classes as usual, Granger. Every single one. And you will not - I forbid you to wear panties. Any at all. No tights, no panties under the robes and under that skirt of yours. Tomorrow after Dinner we will meet to work, very briefly, on maps. The only thing that will not relate to the maps is when I ask you about your day, and when I do you are to answer me in full detail, to whatever extent I please. Is that clear?"

She nodded. He released her with a simple verbal cue, and she was gone. Patrol would be over anyway, by at least a few minutes, and he'd at least allow her to return to the common room in peace. Gods knew she'd left him in a disturbed state, calling him by his name while she arched against his hand. He knew she still loathed him. He knew she still was disgusted by the entire premise. But at the same time, he knew that he hadn't completely forced her into all of it, and that she'd never once cried out or tried to escape. The curiosity bunched up in that messy little head of hers... it was going to be the end of him, he was sure.


	6. Chapter 6

Was his plan to torture her endlessly? She thought so, as exactly eleven days rolled through without Malfoy uttering a single word to her. They were tasked with outlining a new route for prefect's rounds, but he'd apparently finished the task on his own and handed in the plans. McGonagall had approached her in the halls a few days ago with a wide smile and congratulated her on working so well with Draco Malfoy, despite their previous opinions of each other. If only she knew - that he'd intrigued her, that he'd forced her to do things, that he'd now ceased all contact with her in a way that had disgusted her and made her want to scream all at once.

He'd removed her tights, her panties. He'd pleasured her. The next day, as ordered, she wore no panties all day. She'd remembered every sensation, every rub of the rough material of her school skirt against a spot that had ached since the previous night. She'd prepared for rounds that night, mentally thinking through all of the things she'd have to tell him, out loud, when he asked over their plans that night.

Instead, he'd instructed her on an exact time and place to meet. He'd asked two simple questions about the map, one about her day sans panties, and hadn't spoken otherwise until just before he'd left.

_Do not speak to me. Do not try to corner me or anything else of the sort. When we resume contact it will be under my rules, for my reasons. You're getting the idea that you have some sort of say in this matter, but I assure you that full control is in my hands, and this is how I will prove it to you. Goodnight, Granger._

He'd left her gaping in a practice classroom four floors beneath the previous Gryffindor tower, angry and alone. Why? Had she done something wrong? Then she became afraid. If she _had_ done something wrong, would he make her do something she didn't want to? Would he humiliate her? He could do anything, anything at all...

But it had been eleven days since then. On patrols he hardly even looked at her, only twitched his head in one direction to teach her the new route that he'd told McGonagall they'd worked on together. She'd followed him silently, anger and other things bubbling at the surface, unable to be expressed because of one stupid order. _Do not speak to me._ When she finally could again, she'd give him an ear full, and...

Why did she care, anyway? He was a useless little prat who was using her and tricking her into wanting him, into wanting what they did. She was with Ron, and while the past eleven days had been full of trying to find a way around Draco Malfoy's orders to find out why he'd done this, she'd enjoyed the peaceful time with her boyfriend, as well. As usual he didn't push for more, never wanted more than she'd stated at the beginning. He'd snog her in a hallway, and she liked that, but his hand would trail up her side and towards her breasts and she found herself inching away with the excuse that she was behind in schoolwork (not a lie) and that she'd scheduled extra lessons (a complete lie).

It was on the eleventh night that something changed. The previous Monday, Malfoy had pleasured her. That Tuesday, they'd met on the pretense of working on the route, and he'd given her the order. Now Saturday came, and the days classes were mercifully quick, and Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder that could have come from no one else.

"Quietly, Granger. Around the corner."

She did as she was told, stepping quickly around the stone walls into a dim corridor. The sounds of students laughing faded away, until it was nearly silent and both of them were assured that they were alone.

His coat was wet, as was hers. Saturday classes meant not having to wear the standard school robes, but now it meant that their own clothes were soaked through. Both had sat through Herbology classes that day, though at different times, and the rain that had not relented all morning had saturated them both. Hermione had been too distracted to properly dry herself, spell or otherwise, and Draco had only stepped in from class a moment ago and had taken that moment to dry himself with a simple charm.

He just _stared_ at her. It was worse than anger. It was worse than force. Not knowing what came next was torture, and she was surprisingly angry. How dare him use her curse against her like that. It wasn't, she mused, as bad as what else he'd used her curse for. But somehow this was more bothersome. He'd kept her from even speaking to him. She wanted to mouth off, to ask him what the hell he was doing, instead she reached out a hand and shoved his shoulder as hard as she could.

His eyes flew open wider, shocked by the contact. He hadn't expected that? Good. She was only proving that she wasn't some dumb plaything. If she couldn't speak to him, there were other ways for her to express her frustration with him.

He retaliated by bringing a hand back and smacking her across the face, hard. She hadn't expected that. Not at all. The sting that came from his hand was worse than eleven days of silence. It was worse than anything, really. He'd wanted her to realize that full control was in his hands, and he'd just used his hand to prove it.

"How _dare_ you raise a hand to me, Granger. I've made it perfectly clear that this little situation could go much worse for you. You _know_ what I could make you do. To me, to anyone I please. Any time I'd like. Instead I keep this to myself, I do things despite my own logic that please you, that are for your benefit, and you _push me_? Tell me why."

She felt as if she'd used her vocal chords for the first time in her life. "Because you forbid me to speak to you, and how else was I supposed to say anything?"

"You couldn't just wait? You couldn't let me make sure we were alone? What if a little first year were to walk around that corner, lost after lessons, and see us together in some sort of compromising situation? What if they told all of their friends? The things I do, I often do for the benefit of both of us. Instead you _push_ me."

"And you slapped me. Is that any better?"

"I'll treat you as you treat me. At first you were more than willing to accept this little situation and very nearly willing to make the best of it. But the last time we met, the last two times we met, you've mouthed off and treated me like a monster with no provocation."

"Forcing me to spread my legs isn't provocation?"

"Bucking yourself against my hand wasn't really protesting was it?!" He was angry now, she knew, but he did not lay a hand on her just then. He turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What exactly about this prolonged silence upset you, anyway? Don't you like having control over yourself? Don't you like having a little of your own life back?"

"I don't like being treated like a child or told not to speak to you. I don't like that you force me to do things and then just do away with me as you please."

"What do you expect? That I'm going to go tell Weasley to fuck off, that you're mine now? It doesn't work that way. That's not happening, ever."

"Not that, I just..."

"What, you're enjoying this? You enjoy being adulterous and betraying someone you love?"

She sealed her lips, as angry as he. No, she didn't. But she was curious, and some sick part of her wanted him, and every other girl in her dormitory had stories to tell that she didn't, and _that_ at least, she wanted.

He huffed, turning towards her. "You're incredibly difficult. If I'd have known this from the start, I'd never have approached you. I'd have let you live your life with your awful fucking curse, and we'd all be happier for it in the end."

"Didn't you say before that I've always been difficult? Headstrong, I think you said. You can't blame me for that. You've always known how I am." She stepped towards him, lowering her voice as she stopped just inches away from making their bodies touch. "I will not lay idly by while you put your hand between my legs and then ignore me for eleven days. You already take advantage of my curse and demean me. You may have control of my body but what I think about it, what I feel, that's _mine._ "

She stepped back, appraising the effects of her words. For a moment, he appeared stunned, until he narrowed his eyes and stepped towards her, his body pinning hers against the wall. He stepped back again, his hands moving towards the zipper on his pants. "Get on your knees."

She did as commanded, her head against the stone wall. She knew, she knew from the way he was acting - cold, detached, no longer curious but instead exacting and cruel - that this would not be pleasant for her. Instead of the previous ban on gagging, he said nothing before he told her to open her mouth. She waited with her jaw low, eyes wide. Anyone could see them, and she knew he was doing this publicly on purpose. Most would be warming themselves in their common rooms, but the chances of a wanderer coming back this way were high. She watched him take himself in his hand, stroking himself for a few moments. His large hands did nothing to make his member look smaller - it still looked as big as it had the last time she'd seen it from this angle, and as it grew and hardened under his fingers, her breaths quickened and became uneven.

He gave her no warning, no order to relax. He thrust his member into her waiting mouth with such force that she knocked the back of her head against the cold stone wall behind her head, wincing. Before she could recover, he pulled out once more and thrust roughly back in, pressing himself into the back of her throat. The muscles resisted, attempting to force him out of her throat, but he stayed in place for a moment before pulling out and pressing himself back in again. He did so for purely his own pleasure and without any concern for her, and that was what scared her most.

Seconds felt like years, which again felt like only moments. His speed increased as he cruelly filled her mouth, and she produced enough saliva to lubricate the movement without being conscious of it, a bit of it dribbling down her chin. She didn't dare reach up to wipe it away. Her skull slammed against the rock behind her again and again, causing what she knew would be either a large lump or a lightly bleeding cut, or perhaps both. He slid into her throat, causing her to gag repeatedly with no rest for breath. She began to see red, then black, as her vision faded slightly from lack of oxygen. Just as she began to feel light-headed he pulled back all at once, and she gasped for breath, looking up at him with shocked eyes.

He started down at her with an unreadable expression. When he next moved towards her, he guided her head back towards the wall, but this time he put his hand behind her head as he had the first time. He whispered a command forbidding her to gag, and slowly pushed himself back into her mouth. Though he tugged her hair and slid his hands down to her jaw to better angle her hot, wet mouth, she knew that this was him proving what he could do. He could torture her endlessly, forcibly attack her with no thought to her safety or comfort, or he could make it a bit easier on her and make her hate him just a little less every time her head hit his outstretched fingers instead of the rock behind her. His fingers slid up through the hair at the nape of her neck, and it was almost pleasant, to have her head held like that, despite what else was happening. Within a few minutes she felt him throbbing against her tongue, and when he told her that this time he would come into her mouth, and that she should swallow, she only looked up at him and hoped that her unblinking eyes would convey her agreement. She wouldn't protest. She knew what he was capable of. If she refused, he'd only force it down her throat anyway.

Instead of bury himself deep into the back of her throat as he finished, which she'd expected, he continued moving himself back and forth over her tongue, causing his ejaculation to coat her mouth and tongue. It was slightly bitter, a little salty almost, though not entirely unpleasant. This, she thought, she could handle. She'd heard plenty of times that men liked to finish this way, and she'd wondered the first time he'd done this why he hadn't done it like this. She knew it had been him going easy on her, even then. When he finally seemed to have emptied the rest of himself into her, he began to pull back.

It was instinct, she'd later think. She pursed her lips around his shaft as he pulled out of her, sucking the last of his fluids off of him while he fell out of her mouth. He groaned against the sensation, shutting his eyes while he put himself back into his pants, zipped, and tapped her shoulder. She took it to mean that he wanted her to stand up, and when she did, he looked her in the eye in that same stony, unreadable way she'd come to recognize.

His breathing was as uneven as hers had been the night he'd sat her up on the table and fingered her.

He'd done that, hadn't he? She nearly grinned remembering it. Perhaps he was angry, perhaps he'd been exerting his control, showing her what he could do. But at the very least, he was doing some of it for her benefit, not just mercilessly attacking her, and she knew he had reasons for it, whatever they may be.

When he finally regained composure, he simply stated that his previous ban on communication was rescinded, and that he would see her in two days time for Patrol and for their Prefect meeting. She only watched him as he walked away, curious to find out what their next meeting would bring and whether he'd treat her with care or with reckless abandon.

* * *

He had, what? Fifteen minutes? That would be good enough. The prefects bathroom was empty, and would be until the rest of them were out of class. Draco was fortunate to be the only prefect with his last class of the day, Mondays and Wednesdays, completely free to use however he wished. He estimated that the only prefects that would come in anywhere near the end of classes would be the younger sort from Ravenclaw, who were known to rush here immediately after classes to shower and change before studying. But for the next fourteen and a half minutes, the room was his to do with as he pleased, and he took advantage of his time as best as he knew how.

Water streamed over his head, down his shoulders, dripping down his body until it slid over the tile floors and into the drain at the bottom of the roomy shower stall. Steam had filled the stall quickly, what with the high temperature of his usual showers, and he took a deep breath while attempting to steady himself. If Saturday had been a sensory explosion, Sunday had been a maddening silence. Sunday, he'd decided, would be the day he'd leave her alone. She deserved at least one day a week to count on not being cornered or coerced into something. Sunday he'd left her alone. But Monday was different - Monday was a Prefect's meeting, a half-hour in a room in which he'd have to completely shut himself off to the person he became when they were alone, when he was free to exercise his control over her.

It had his cock twitching, just thinking about what would come later, on patrol. He was sure as hell not going to get a hard on in the middle of a prefect's meeting, so he'd have to relieve himself now and hope it was enough to keep his arousal dormant for a few more hours.

Her legs straightening as he slid off her tights... the feeling of triumph deep in his chest as he tossed her panties to the floor. The way she'd said his name as her entire world and the moist walls insider her crashed around him.

He took himself in his hand, allowing the remaining lather from his shampoo to ease the friction, skin gliding against skin. Just a little pressure, and... there. He'd perfected the grip on himself, though admittedly he hadn't been doing this as often as most boys his age. He'd been distracted, previously, with finding himself at the heart of a war that had ended the world he'd known. He hadn't really had the time or energy for a good wank when he'd been fearing for his life, but the last few weeks here at Hogwarts - and his encounters with Granger - had rekindled his sense of sexuality.

His fingers ran over the smooth skin of the head, over and over the most sensitive parts. He squeezed, feeling his palm run over the tip as he pulled away and again as he thrust himself back into his own hand, this time all the way to the base of his cock. He was hard now, there was no denying that he'd been thinking about her in the process. Granger. Her nose in a book, or in the smattering of pubic hair around his groin, somehow he found both to be equally arousing. The veins in his member throbbed against his fingers, pulsing against him as he tightened his grip with his thumb and middle finger like a vice. He was shaking now, jerking against his own hand, prolonging the moment as much as he could. He'd hardly taken four minutes, that was unusual. When the moment finally came, it was to a single, delicious thought in his head - Granger the bookworm, laid out under him in a bed or on a desk, completely naked, her pert breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts into her. He came with a guttural shout, spurting his seed onto the tile floors of the shower stall, while he imagined pressing his dick through her maidenhood and taking her virginity, with his name like a moan on her lips.

He knew she was a virgin, she'd said as much. She'd hardly been touched before. So much for a secret tryst with Potter on their little adventure, he thought, but it pleased him all the same. She didn't want to do those things with Ron. She wanted to be touched by Draco himself. But would she sacrifice something like that to him in the name of curiosity? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted it, wanted her, in a way that was both horrifyingly awful and blissfully wonderful. So could be said for most good things, though, and as he rinsed himself and toweled off, he made a vow to let her make one decision, and that would be whether or not she'd give that to him.

Old Draco would have been disgusted. New Draco wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but somehow he liked it.

The hour between his shower and the start of the prefect meeting passed quickly. His release had left the beast inside feeling satiated and dulled, at least long enough to sit through thirty minutes of Q and A with the Headmistress. Prefects reported catching twice as many groups of students out of bed in the last week and a half than ever before. Terry Boot, who was filling in for a Ravenclaw prefect who'd fallen ill after a bad Herbology mix up, announced that he'd found four separate couples snogging in a single night, each of which had been surprised to see him off the route they knew so well. McGonagall suggested that the routes - Draco had submitted two - be interchanged randomly so as to be the most efficient. Though her message of friendship and getting along was strong and was beginning to affect students, she didn't mean it in a way that would make everyone want to snog everyone from another house, and urged the prefects to try their best to convince other students that sneaking out of bed was not the best choice, and that McGonagall herself would arrange schedules so that all students had a little more free time to make new friends in whatever rule-abiding way they pleased.

Draco held back a chuckle, even a smirk. He did not let his face betray him. How many rules was he breaking while he met with Granger? Probably at least half of them. He turned to seemingly glance around the room and let his eyes run over her, sitting beside Ron Weasley. Ron's hand was not on her leg, as usual. Was there trouble brewing? He hoped so. Granger looked tense, her legs crossed tightly and her usually messy hair pulled back into a strict, tight ponytail, seemingly sitting with the same rapt attention as the rest of the prefects.

But, he knew that this change in schedule could be bad for his plans. If the school were allowed more free time in the afternoons or on weekends, Hermione would surely spend hers with her friends, avoiding him as resolutely as possible. Their visits would be limited to Patrol nights, and after not catching a single group out of bed the last night of the old route, McGonagall would be watching them closely to make sure they were doing their job. If only she knew what happened for at least a significant amount of that time... it would shock her half to death, he knew, and probably get them both expelled regardless of Hermione's reputation.

Draco tapped his quill on a bit of parchment, content to watch droplets of ink scatter across the page while the last few minutes of the meeting ticked away. When they were finally released, all at once and without hesitation, Draco watched Hermione stand faster than any other in the room. She didn't look at Ron, didn't speak a word to him. Instead she took a fraction of a second to flit her narrowed eyes towards his own, grab her things, and bolt out the door before anyone else could leave. Ron stayed behind, gathering his belongings slowly. Draco had half a mind to make a snarky comment about their obvious distance, but he held back. Doing so would only imply that he'd been watching them, or rather watching her, and that was bound to raise questions he wasn't prepared for.

* * *

Draco was, uncharacteristically, late for patrol. Hermione groaned, rubbing her hands over her arms in an attempt to warm herself. The nights were growing colder, longer, and more strained. She'd layered a cozy wool sweater over a thermal over a tank top, and tights under her jeans, but it still wasn't enough to keep the cold air from permeating her skin and burrowing deep inside her. She shivered. If Draco showed up, they could start walking and perhaps warm up.

And then what might happen if he forced her into an empty room again? No part of that left the option of keeping all of her clothes on, though she figured that might also count as warming up.

She knew Malfoy had noticed her distance to Ron in that afternoon's meeting. Everyone had. It was, by and large, the new standard for Ron to rest his hand on her thigh, just above her knee, and to write or scribble or eat or drum on the table with his other hand. He seemed attached to her at all times, by one hand on one leg, and it had been just enough for Hermione to keep her sanity. Any closer, any more, and she wouldn't be able to keep herself together. Ron hadn't touched her in the weeks since school had begun, but someone else had. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't explain that something else was happening. Not, exactly, that there was 'someone else' - it was far from what that term implied, but that there was something else happening. Malfoy forbade her from talking about any of it, at all.

No, she didn't want to tell him, even if she could. Which made it especially difficult when Ron cornered her that morning after breakfast on their way to classes, demanding to know what was the matter and why she had been so distant over the past few weeks. She'd seen Harry pass them over Ron's shoulder, a sympathetic smile on his face. When Ron was upset, it was hard to fix. And Hermione couldn't fix this if she tried.

She'd told him something that was, well, sort of the truth. She had a lot on her mind. She had a lot going on this year, more than she could list, and her working with Draco Malfoy for patrol and for building maps had been somewhat difficult to understand. Sometimes he wanted to work and seemed to want to get along, sometimes he was a monster. It was the best she could convey, given her orders, but it wasn't good enough for Ron. He mumbled that they'd talk later and stalked off to his first class of the day, leaving Hermione's heart racing. She loved him, she did. But how?

She paced, waiting for Malfoy. How could she love Ron, at all? He was one of her best friends, and the things they'd seen and done together were not to be taken lightly. They'd fought a war together. They'd suppressed feelings for each other for years. But when the end of the trouble came, and they were at last free to spend their time together and figure themselves out, they'd only had three months of blissful summer to explore their relationship and each other before school had resumed. That day, the one time she'd allowed Ron to touch her from beneath her summer dress, she'd _wanted_ that. She'd been the one to edge the hem of the material up her thigh and to place his hand there, a placement that had become ritual even up until this morning. But when he'd touched her... perhaps because he was just slightly more experienced than she was... it hadn't done a thing for her. The whole thing had just felt strange, and after a few minutes of relative silence and awkward shifting, she shut her legs and straightened her dress. Not another word was said about it, but was there something to the way that Ron didn't protest? Had he not felt anything either? Sex wasn't everything, but a sexless future wasn't healthy, even she knew that.

She heard the portrait swing away, the Fat Lady tutting about the late hour even after Malfoy snapped at her and explained that they were prefects on Patrol. Hermione whirled around to see him, dressed immaculately as always. Who had the time or wardrobe to dress himself like that at school? Who cared?

"We're taking the second new route tonight. Do you remember where it leads?"

She shook her head. She didn't. She might have known if Malfoy had worked on the maps with her, but he'd shut her out of that little operation. He cocked his head in one direction, indicating that she should follow him. They continued in this fashion for a few minutes, passing what were the most used hallways and corridors, through areas where students had been known to sneak out and think they couldn't be caught. Torches flickered as they walked by, the flames disturbed by the movement of two bodies in previously still corridors. Hermione glanced up at him only once, and when she found that his eyes were trained on her, narrowed, inquisitive, she turned away as quickly as she could.

He'd said something rude to Harry a few days ago. She almost never found out, but Harry had mistakenly alluded to his "run-in with Malfoy" and she'd made him give her details. Malfoy had sneered at Harry, as usual, and made a comment about a whole war fought over one stupid saint, and Harry had just let it pass. That had been pretty common for Harry in the last few months. While he was still deeply disturbed, his faith in himself had been renewed. He was positive. He'd defeated Voldemort, saved millions of wizards and muggles alike. While everyone had suffered losses - Harry himself had lost many that had become like family to him - Harry knew that he'd done something that no other wizard on Earth could have done. Hermione knew she should be spending more time with him, but patrol and classes and studying really did make it difficult.

She supposed that Malfoy saying something rude to Harry was just his way of returning to normalcy - as far as the rest of the world was concerned. As far as Monday and Thursday nights went, well, there was nothing normal about that. There was something sickening and disturbing and torturous about it, as far from normal as she knew could exist.

"We've been assigned Saturdays." His voice wavered as he spoke to her, not even looking at her.

"What?"

"Saturdays. For Patrol. McGonagall is apparently pleased with our progress. We don't seem to be tearing each others heads off between classes, and we haven't killed each other in the common room, so she's decided to up our responsibilities to fall in line with her new plan for free time for everyone."

Hermione nodded. She knew that would happen eventually - what better way to prove to the school that they could all get along than to show them that two people who previously despised each other could work together without problem? McGonagall, then, didn't know about the risen lump on the back of Hermione's head from two nights ago. It was still tender to the touch, and it made her seethe with anger when she felt it, but her anger was tempered by remembering the feeling of Malfoy's fingers cradling her head afterwards.

"Do you know anything about the new plan besides that?" She finally dared look up at him, but he stared resolutely ahead.

"A bit, yeah. I helped work it out with her. She asked if I'd like to."

"What's going to happen?"

"It's a bit complicated. Saturday classes are cancelled indefinitely. Since they were just an addition to Tuesday and Thursday classes, it won't really matter, but it means a little more studying during the week. Classes themselves will go down by about fifteen minutes, the time between classes will shrink by a minute or two, lunch will shrink from forty-five minutes down to thirty, but all of that together means nearly an extra hour after classes for studying, socializing. Curfew will be extended a half-hour on top of that. It's her impression that the students need more time together. It's... a difficult time for everyone. But in essence, weekend curfews will be extended as well. Friday and Saturday night patrols will be split between two sets of us, early and late. We've gotten the early shift, which I don't prefer, and we'll be handing off duties to your little boyfriend and his partner, or Terry Boot for now."

"That's... complicated."

"Sounds a lot more complicated than it will be. Just a few minutes here and there. Nothing to fret over. She's right, you know. Students need some time."

"And you've got a soft spot for everyone in school now, have you?" She rolled her eyes, hugging her arms to her chest. She was still chilled, and again wished she owned more padded bras.

"I can sympathize with the loss that many feel, if that's what you're asking."

"My parents are somewhere in Australia with no recollection of ever having a daughter. Harry's godson will never know his parents. We lost students. We lost family. Your parents went to Azkaban, and rightly so."

"I know this may shock you, Granger, but my father was still a father."

"What does that even mean?" She stopped in the hallway, leaning against the stone wall carefully enough so as not to touch her head to the stone.

"I'm sure you remember me threatening the three of you - hell, many more than that - with the idea that my father is who he is. You may not understand this Granger, you and I were raised in wholly different ways, but a father in any case is the one you run to that makes all the bad things go away. Our bad things may have been very different as children, but my father was still the man who protected me. My mother still sang me to sleep until I grew out of it, she was still the one who took me school shopping every year. They're still parents. They're still people. They're just people who did many, many bad things."

She looked at her shoes, at the ceiling, anywhere but at _him_. She wanted to scream. How dare he? But that small part of her that understood him, that felt the ache of parents far away, knew that he was right. His father was still a father. And for Malfoy, even when the boogeyman had lived within his own home, his mother at least had done her very best to save him.

Nothing was said as Hermione continued to follow him down the hallway, towards a spot where older students were known to congregate after hours. A sixth year group of girls was sitting in the crook of a corner, playing card games and talking in hushed tones about gossip around school. When they saw Hermione and Malfoy, their smiles turned to looks of total fear. They had been caught, which meant at least a week's worth of detentions. Hermione followed the group as they followed Malfoy, all the way to Filch's office to have slips written out. The girls were all in the same dormitory in the old Hufflepuff dorms, and once they were lead back and ensured to be at least as far in as the common room, Draco and Hermione made the long ascent back to Gryffindor tower. It felt odd to be walking there with someone who wore a green tie during the day, in classes. It felt odd to be there with him at all.

In truth, she was split in two. One half of her still despised him, still insisted that he bled green and wouldn't hesitate to hurt her just for fun. That half of her hated him, hated what had happened and what had yet to happen. That half of her wanted to smack him like she had in third year. The other half... well, the other half remembered backing her hips up against his hand, calling his name as he brought her over the edge. The other half felt the pooled moisture between her legs. There wasn't enough time now for him to corner her, to explore any further, and she hated the fact that she hated that at all. The second half of her was corrupted by her curiosity, and that's what frustrated her the most. The second half was actually sort of attracted to him, in the way that she knew had to do with his broad shoulders and chest, his strong arms, his long fingers, his height.

They climbed four sets of stairs before the staircase decided to send them elsewhere. Fantastic. A detour through the castle could take longer, but would be purely walking. Malfoy seemed to know this too, groaning as he lead them through a twisting hallway towards a back set of stairs. That set, at least, was usually stationary and would lead them to a spot not terribly far from the tower.

* * *

Those stairs were gone. Disappeared. Malfoy cursed, Hermione stomped on the ground in frustration. It could take ages to get back now. They had to hope that the main staircase would change its mind and allow them back up the right way. That could take an hour or more, depending on the day, but it was their only option for the moment. The castle, apparently, did not want to give them any special passageways today.

They waited by the stairs for... who knew how long? There were no clocks at that level, the nearest one perhaps a floor or two above their heads. Draco estimated that at least half an hour had passed, and they were long past their patrol night curfew. They were only given five minutes after the end of patrol to be back in their dormitories. If they were caught out past then, the usual curfew rules would apply to them, and would likely be worse than that since if they were apprehended, it would be by Filch himself.

He'd almost been glad that time had run out before their return to the dormitories. He'd been glad that their remaining time on patrol had been spent apprehending rule breakers... how sick.

But now the castle itself was determined to keep them out as long as possible. He smacked his hand against the wood paneling behind him, cursing.

"We're going to be stuck here a while."

He watched her nod, her eyes trained on her shoes. "I know. It figures."

What figured? Many things, he supposed. He didn't ask what she meant. They were, essentially, trapped on a floor with nothing but a few storage rooms and a few classrooms. The fifth floor was horribly boring, he thought, especially when you were likely trapped there for all eternity.

Of course, he had some ideas. Just a few. Those doors did open, he knew, and likely one of them would allow enough space for more than Christmas decorations or broken desks.

But somehow the idea of leaving to find an open room, and possibly missing the stairs, seemed like a bad idea. If he took her into a room and started something, and they missed the stairs again... it was likely already one in the morning, it could be another hour at least before they would head back. But what would he have done with the time if he were to just stand here and wait and it took just as long?

He let out a huff of a breath, pulling himself off the wall. "It's clear the castle does not want us to return to our dormitories at this time. We should probably..."

"What, hole up in a classroom? You know how that works. You'd have to force me into it. Order me into it. Whichever. It's already late, what if we miss the stairs?"

"What if the stairs don't move again until morning? We're stuck no matter what. Might as well make it interesting. Follow me."

He heard her all but growl behind him, her footsteps padding along the carpeted floor behind him. The first two rooms were crowded, packed with odds and ends. The third opened to a wall, and wasn't really a door to anything at all. The fourth opened to a large, open room that looked as if it had been blown apart in a rather explosive fashion. Draco waved his wand, moving the debris to one wall, and magicked it away to another part of the castle. To where? He wasn't sure. Somewhere outside, he thought, as that had been the direction he'd intended to send it all. The room, now empty, was completely dark. He ordered Hermione into the room, leaving briefly to retrieve a lamp he'd seen in one of the storage rooms, along with a few soft dueling mats. It would do, for now.

He lit the lantern, coaxing the flame higher with his wand. It was almost like a few proper torches, and he set it to hover just over their heads in the room, casting light to all four corners. Granger stood just inside the door, arms crossed. He laid down the mat and looked at her. When it became clear that she refused to move of her own accord - stubborn little... - he told her to come farther into the room and stand on the mat.

He still had no idea what he wanted. What was he doing here? What would he have her do?

Well, okay. There was that.

Her arms folded over her chest... he knew why that was. He'd seen her turn a corner earlier, the frigid air making her nipples strain against her shirt. He hadn't seen her chest yet, and he thought that tonight he might like to do just that.

"Stand in the light, Granger. Move a little farther back. There. Uncross your arms."

The light shone down over her hair and shoulders, over her sweater and her jeans. When she uncrossed her arms, scowling, he took a few moments to appreciate the fact that she wore unlined bras. She felt no need to wear anything padded or pushy, and that meant that everything he saw bouncing within the confines of her shirts was completely hers, completely natural. He sat on the mat, leaning his back against the wall, and nodded.

"Good. Boots off now, and socks. Take them off."

The jerky movements of her limbs made her kick her boots off in two different directions. Her socks were strewn equally wildly. Her toes curled over against the smooth fabric of the mat.

"Take off your sweater, Granger."

She reached down, crossing her arms and grasping the hem in her fingers. In one swift movement, the sweater was also discarded. A second layer and, he saw, a third, now stood between him and whatever she wore underneath her prudish exterior.

"Remove the next layer."

"I hate you."

"No you don't. Well, you might, but you know I have a... redeeming quality or two. You're the one who attacked me first, Granger, and though I've demonstrated what I can do, I'd like a little apology from you, willingly or not. Next layer, off, now."

She slipped off the thermal, tossing it at him with an air of disgust. He could see her arms straining, wanting to cross. Was she self conscious? He prepared to open his mouth and say something, tell her she had nothing to be self conscious about at all, but he shut his lips again, watching her stand there in a tank top.

"Remove your jeans, Granger."

Her jeans slipped off next, leaving a pair of thick tights on her legs.

"Gods, Granger, did you layer this much clothing to keep me from doing this on purpose? It almost worked, but... take off your tights. And turn around while you do it, I'd like to see you bend over in front of me."

Her face burned red, not from the heat of the lamp just an arm's reach above her head but from embarrassment. He didn't care. He wanted this.

"Closer."

She was within reaching distance when she turned, looping her thumbs over the tops of her tights. She bent forwards, bending over low and slow and pulling her tights over that pert little bum, down her thighs, until she slid them past her knees.

Tonight's display was quite different. Silk, blue silk, edged in tiny lace, covered only half of her bum and strained against what lay at the tops of her thighs. He saw the pool of dampness there, emphasized by the shiny fabric, which made her lips stick to the fabric, all was visible.

"My, my Granger. I'll have to do this again. Stand up straight, turn around. Step back just a bit, I want you in the light again."

She did as she was told, a permanent scowl on her face.

He supposed he could be a _little_ nice about the whole thing. "Now, I'd like you to take off your tank top, slowly. Show me what you've got under there. Give me a little show about it. I'd like nothing more, at this moment, than to see you without that tank top, and I mean that."

Her cheeks flushed brighter, but she reached down as instructed, slowly peeling the tank top off from the bottom. The more space between that hem and the top of her panties, the more excited he got. She had a really spectacular body, which surprised him, given her hesitance to show it off. She'd never worn anything tight in the history of his knowing her, and he wondered why. Perhaps she didn't want that kind of attention - well, she deserved it, but in an appreciative way. He appreciated it.

The flat plane of her stomach was interrupted only by her small bellybutton, not too high or low. She wasn't pasty white, so she had to have worn a bathing suit here and there over the summer.

"You ought to shove me around more often, Granger. I'm quite enjoying this. Marvelous." The hem of her tank top reached her ribs, which didn't stick out so much as just exist there, in shape. Not too thin. Gods, she was perfect, from her display on the table a week and a half prior to right now in front of him. There was no better person to have been hit with this curse, and no better person to have learned the truth, he thought. Her top now reached the bottoms of her breasts, and he could see in glimpses, as she shifted the tank top around her body in a little show, that the fabric of the bra was nearly the same blue as her knickers, just a shade or two off, and still silky. Watching the white fabric of the tank top glide over the satiny blue of her chest was like magic. When the hem of her top finally passed her nipples, covered them, and then uncovered them again, she slipped the shirt the rest of the way off, letting it fall from her fingertips in front of her. Slim shoulders, narrow waist, with a nice curve to her hips. Not too thin or too thick, with nice breasts and a raised bum.

"Well, well, Granger. Now I know why you hide yourself in baggy clothing half the time. Wouldn't want this secret getting out either. It's no surprise that you aren't as attracted to Weasley as he is to you... look at yourself."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment, Malfoy?"

"It is. It is... don't get used to it. But I do love looking at you."

"And what about you, hmm? Just going to sit there in your coat and mock me?"

"I'm not mocking you. It's still a compliment. But I could strip for you, if you'd like."

"Go to hell."

He chuckled, leaning forward to slip off his coat. "No, no. You're saying that it's unfair for you to be down to your knickers while I sit here, comfortably dressed. Fine. I can agree with that." He stood now, slipping off his shoes. He knew he was good looking, he spent a small portion of his day doing whatever exercises he could in his dormitory to keep up his shape. His shoulders were broad, his chest lightly defined above his stomach, a hint of muscle without being flashy. His hip bones dipped in, forming a slight V downwards into an area she'd already seen before. He unbuttoned his shirt, slipped it off, and started on his jeans. When he was down to his favorite pair of boxer briefs, he stepped towards her, arms down at his sides.

"See? Now we're even. Like what you see, Granger?"

"You're not revolting, if that's what you're asking."

He sniggered, shaking his head. "Close enough. I didn't even have to force that one out of you. But there's still a small inequality that we have yet to deal with..."

He eyed her bra, and he knew that she wanted nothing more than to cross her arms, dress herself, and leave. But wouldn't he be helping her, really, if he were to help her conquer her fears a little?

"You can do it or I can. That's your pick."

She stared at him, mouth set in a line. He knew her dilemma. If she did it herself, she knew he'd be watching the whole time, enjoying the show. If she let him do it, he'd be touching her, and while he suspected that she might like it a little, she wouldn't want to admit that to him.

"I'll do it." She reached backwards, swallowing. He watched her arms move, then drop, and the straps sagged slightly upon their release. She reached upwards, dragging the fabric down and...

Her breasts bounced downwards, then up again. Though not terribly large, they had a nice knack for being quite bouncy, and they weren't small, either. He estimated a full C cup. He hummed, watching as she dropped her bra beside her and shook her hair out behind her. The shake of her head caused her breasts to move and shake slightly side to side, and he felt himself growing hard. She'd be able to tell immediately, and wouldn't that help her? Her eyes wandered downwards, lingering exactly where he'd predicted. When her eyes grew wide, cheeks still flushed, he knew he'd done something right, after all.

"I..."

"Granger. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. If I'd have known about this - about these - in years previous, I'd have been a lot nicer to you than I was."

"Because of my breasts?"

"Because as far as women's bodies go, it would be very very hard for anyone to top yours. Certainly no girl I've been with has been this... pleasing to look at."

"I feel like I should say thanks, but you did force me to strip when I didn't want to, so I won't."

"That's fine. I'll take that." He stepped forward, placing his hands on her waist, his thumbs just brushing the bottoms of her breasts.

"You. Are. Exquisite."

He let one hand roam upwards, the thumb just brushing her hard nipple, causing her to draw breath through her teeth. He flicked the hard little nub back and forth, then reached to roll it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. He was fully hard now, her skin under his hand exciting him nearly to the point of combustion. He would _not_ let that happen again.

His hand slipped over her breast, holding it lightly.

"Touch me, Granger."

She looked as if she might hesitate, but ultimately her hand moved forward, pressing against his shaft, now fully hard and straining against the stretchy material. She took in a shaky breath, reaching her fingertips over the band and pulling his pants down, letting them fall to his feet.

His member sprung up to attention, slightly above horizontal as usual. He looked down to watch as she took him in her small hand. He wouldn't press her to do more, she'd do it on her own. His hand grabbed at her lightly, his palm slipping against her nipple, and her back arched slightly as her hand slid down his shaft towards the base. Triumph spread through him, slowly at first and then all at once shooting to every nerve in his body. She wanted him, though she didn't want to, or maybe she just wanted to feel wanted. Semantics. He lifted his other hand to cup both of her breasts, squeezing lightly and massaging their entirety. Her hand, of her own accord, began to work its way up and down his throbbing cock. He dropped one hand, his fingertips trailing over her stomach, down her hips, until they came to rest at the mound of flesh that rested there. He slipped his fingers into her panties, letting the back of his hand push them down until they too fell to the floor.

She gasped, the cold of the room hitting her moist lips. Her eyes flew open, locking with his then shutting again as his fingertips brushed her hot core. She was wet, excited from the prospect of something happening on patrol, excited from being complimented, excited by his brazen acceptance to remove his own clothing. He knew she could feel his fingers gliding through her, made easy by the moisture that had come from her own excitement. It was almost, almost too much. Her hand was inexperienced, though, but he did not dare correct her yet for fear of exciting himself too much. He gave her only one order.

"Don't stop. Faster, just a little faster. Get the whole thing. Yes, oh gods..."

Standing and doing such things, he found, was much more fun than laying down and fumbling around. When standing, he could step forward, as he did then, again and again until she was pinned against the wall.

"Spread your legs a little Granger, I can't get my hand..." Before he could finish speaking, she'd side-stepped just enough to let his hand burrow underneath her. She mewled in pleasure as he slipped a finger inside her, teasingly making a beckoning movement with his curled finger. She arched her hips into his hand, pressing the top of her body into the hand that firmly held her breast. Unbinding the bookworm, he thought, felt better than she would ever know.

"Do you want to finish, Granger? Is that what you want? Tell me." He stopped moving his finger inside her, slipping it out and running the fluid coated digit up her slit while he waited for a reply.

"I... I don't know."

"That's terribly unfortunate, not to know at all... we could go check on the stairs, or..."

"The stairs! Gods Malfoy, it's long past our curfew, we've got to go..." Still her hand would not stop moving over his cock, the order was still in place, and she still pressed her hips into the digit that teased at her clit.

"Yes, yes, then you'd like to finish? Is that what you're saying?"

"Please... I... please." She looked up into his eyes and he saw nothing but fire. In moments such as this, she was hardly the same girl at all. Something had taken over her, lust or something entirely different, and though he knew she was tortured about the circumstances, she ground her hips against his finger. That was acceptance, right?

He pressed two fingers against her clit, rubbing in circles furiously fast. She cried out, no concern for noise or restricting herself, as she pumped away at his shaft. As she ground against his hand, he too became close enough to finish.

She came to the brink in mere moments, a drop of her fluids dripping down her thigh to her knee. She trembled, shouted something incoherent, and then he felt the shudder that came after her climax. As she finished, she gripped his cock tighter and the glorious pressure brought him to a simultaneous end.

His come hit the wall with a small smack, running down to the floor where it pooled. Neither moved for a moment, but when they did, it was quickly and quietly. He'd been mouthy before, as had she, but neither wanted to discuss the elephant in the room - nobody had forced either of them into pressing up against each other, breathing heavy, and finishing together. When they returned to the staircase, clothes mussed, the stairs were back in position, prepared to take them to the tower as if they'd never moved at all. When they reached the common room, each grumbled a low _goodnight_ to each other across the empty room, climbing separate sets of stairs to equally tortured nights absent of slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

_Oh, if that caretaker could see them, he'd have a fit. That's what she told herself, anyway. Violet had been by just earlier, bringing with her copious amounts of wine and the gossip that had passed throughout the portraits of Hogwarts castle throughout the day. Prior to the disturbance, "The Fat Lady" - or so everyone so brazenly referred to her - had been quite alright. Students in bed for the night, no bother for passwords or swinging open. The night was hers to do with as she pleased._

_But she'd forgotten the prefects. It was late, she'd had so much wine, and throughout her roughly forty years as the door guard of Gryffindor Tower, it had certainly not been the first time she'd forgotten about the prefects. She highly disliked when anyone of authority in the school saw her in such a state - hair mussed, cheeks flushed red from warmth and wine._

_These students, however, were in such a state that it put the very definition of the word 'mess' to shame. The boy - she'd never seen him much before this year, as he was part of a different House entirely - was sweating slightly, a sheen sparkling low on his wide forehead. His eyes were wide, panicked, and guilty looking, as was the rest of him - arms straight at his side, shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned, and slacks halfway unzipped. He wouldn't take his eyes off his shoes, even as he choked out the password and looked quickly at the girl. She was in almost as terrible of a state as he was - looking as if she had dressed in a hurry, and then run a great distance._

_"Trophy cabinet. That's still the password, right?"_

_"I expect the two of you have a reason to be returning to your dormitories so late?"_

_The girl - she remembered her name now to be Hermione Granger - nodded. "Y-yes." She stuttered. "We had prefect duties."_

_"Duties that should have ended well over an hour ago. Nearly two. Have you any reason for being so late? I was under the impression that all students were to be in their beds, and that I would be in peace for the next few hours, at the least."_

_"The staircase. Moved. Wouldn't let us up." Even as she said it, her cheeks flushed slightly more, and The Fat Lady tutted and shook her head._

_"Like I haven't heard that one before. You're lucky I'm as kind and forgiving as I am - other guards, or that idiot knight, would rat you both out and comment on the look of you both. As it stands, I'll let you in with a warning. Straight to bed." She swung forward, noting the silence that followed, and swung shut after a few moments and once they were both past._

_It wasn't even worth reporting, though there were certainly channels through which she could do just that. No, it was late and she was so very tired, and they were both of age. It really wasn't her place to meddle, anyway._

* * *

"Come here, you."

She wanted to. She did. But...

"Hermione, come on. We're out here, all by ourselves, alone for the first time all year." His ginger brows were raised onto his pale, slightly freckled forehead. His grin was faltering, perhaps in realizing that while Hermione took slow steps towards him, she hadn't yet rushed into his arms. Any other spot on the outer walls of the castle. Any other life. But Ron had chosen this exact expanse of wall, this place that struck a nerve in her and had made her whole face flush with shame. Ron Weasley might think her coloring was due to the biting wind, but she could pick out the exact brick in the wall behind him that she had hit her head on just two weeks prior.

It was the coldest October she'd seen in her entire history at Hogwarts, but no one else seemed to notice. Quidditch tryouts had gone on weeks ago, and despite many rumors of players attempting to switch house teams or form super groups of players, the teams stayed roughly the same as they had been two years ago, with the only real changes being students that had graduated being replaced by the younger students. Ron and Harry seemed to both be happy about this arrangement, but Harry still occasionally joked about what the season might be like if they'd formed a team with Draco Malfoy and the other best players from each of the teams. They realized, of course, that it wouldn't have been fair at all, but since it hadn't happened it no longer crossed anyone's minds. The first practice of the season had proved that Harry's captaincy skills were still intact, though it had been well over a year since he'd last played here, and that Ron's horrid nervousness had all but disappeared entirely. In fact, it was after one of these successful practices that he'd reached for Hermione's hand, pulling her out of doors for a 'walk around the grounds'. He'd barely gotten himself out the door and around the corner without stumbling, but as soon as he'd found a patch of wall to lean on that wasn't directly visible from the front doors of the castle, he'd stopped.

That brick. She thought she might still be able to feel it bounce against the back of her head, and then she thought she might still be feeling Malfoy's hand cradling the back of her head. She opened her mouth to say something, but... nothing came out. Instead, Ron reached forward, pulling her close.

Embracing Ron was far different than being towered over by Draco Malfoy. Ron was all thin, angular arms and legs, and a narrow waist and chest. He held her close to him, stroking her hair, and he bent down to whisper sweet things in her hair. _I've missed you. Let's just spend a little time alone._ His hands slid over her hips, playing with the hem of her sweater, and as she looked up at him to respond, to stutter out an explanation so that she might be able to leave or, at the very least, move them to a different location, Ron bent down and pressed his mouth to hers.

Kissing Ron was infinitely different than whatever it was she did with Malfoy. When Malfoy did this, she felt both hot and cold, her insides both still and racing. When Ron moved his lips against hers, she felt... comfort. It was nice, really, but she knew that it wasn't what you were supposed to feel when being snogged. Ron's hands slid up under her sweater, and the misty afternoon dampened his fingers against her skin. She pulled back from his kiss, shaking slightly. She wanted to want him. She loved him, but she didn't desire him.

"Ron. Ron, stop."

His hands stayed under her sweater, but his head flew back, smacking against the stone wall. She knew that feeling. "Ow. What... what's wrong?"

Well, she thought, the truth was too much, but a lie was too little. She didn't want his hands under her sweater, but she still wanted them to hold her own hands. She didn't want to be pulled up against this stretch of wall, but she still wanted to just lay next to him and stretch out on a summer afternoon.

"I..." She looked into his eyes and saw the worry there. He already suspected that she was pulling away. "I'm not sure. I just don't know, Ron."

"You've been pulling away since we got here, since the very first day. Doesn't..." He lowered his voice, leaning in to whisper to her. "Doesn't this summer, doesn't the war, mean anything to you?"

She felt tears pool. Of course they did. "Of course, Ron. How could you even ask that? You're... you have to know. I love you."

"But?"

"But..." She could end it now. She could just break up with him. But even in her current predicament, she remembered the tiny, shining part of her heart that thought that she and Ron would outlast anything. "But I just don't want to do this right now. The hurried snogging outside the castle, the wandering hands... I'm not ready for that. I don't think I am, anyway. I'm still not. I just can't... enjoy it, when it's like this."

"You're saying that it's because we're at school? Like, because so many other people are around?"

"Sort of. But there are other reasons, too. I can't really explain it. I just don't enjoy it."

Ron raised his hand to her shoulder, her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. She felt the tears spill over, running down her skin and then his, and he pulled her close to him but only to hold her.

She didn't fall into his arms, she didn't break apart. She spent that sixty seconds regaining her composure, willing her tears away, and breathing deeply. She hadn't broken up with him, because she still loved him. She'd always known that. But could she be in a relationship that was purely romantic, and not at all physical, after what she'd been experiencing now? She knew what it was like to _want_ someone. Could she be in a relationship in which she was cheating, even by force? Her moral boundaries were destroyed, she knew that, but what other choice did she have?

"I'm sorry, Ron. About all this. I just needed to be honest."

"But you still... I mean, do you still want to be with me? Do you still love me?"

She nodded against his hand, pulling away as she did so. "Yes of course I still love you. I just need space." She reached up to grab his hand with her own, smoothing her thumb over the palm. None of this would have happened if Draco wouldn't have found out. She could have been perfectly pleased with a mediocre physical aspect in her relationship. She could have loved Ron Weasley a lot more than she believed she did right now. Instead, she would cling to this last thread for as long as she could, until she found a way to end the curse or to get Draco Malfoy to leave her alone. Until she found a solution to all of this.

Ron nodded, pulling her by the hand back into the castle. "I love you, too. It's fine. I understand."

He smiled, but Hermione saw the sadness behind it. She had to find a way to make this all work. She hated hurting Ron. But was staying in a relationship like this really the best option?

* * *

Was this really what he'd turned into? The furious masturbator in stolen moments in the Prefect's bathroom? Draco groaned, shutting off the water and toweling himself off. She'd turned him into this. He was the one with the control, but she seemed to be able to effect him, still. Sundays were relatively quiet in here until later at night. He took what he could get.

Saturdays were officially his least favorite days. Instead of a shorter day of classes and a few hours spent heckling first years or catching up on classwork, he now spent most of these days sulking around and avoiding his dorm mates until he inevitably had to shower, dress, and meet Granger in the corridor for patrol.

Saturday patrols, he found, were the worst. On weeknights if he cornered her and slid his hand up her skirt, and if they were late returning to the common room, nobody but The Fat Lady was the wiser. Saturdays, however, they had a strict schedule to stick to - outer grounds, seventh floor, and repeat. And if he had a single moment to lock her away with him for a short while, he had to carefully watch the time so that when ten thirty came around, he and Hermione were both straightened, clean, and not blushing furiously. Ten thirty, of course, was when they would hand patrol off to Ron Weasley and Terry Boot, and would then scurry back to the common room a dozen paces away from each other, neither speaking a word.

Granger disliked their little trysts on Saturdays for obvious reasons that Draco was starting to dislike, as well. Weasley's obvious dislike of him was not at all lessened by his changed allegiances in the war. For all Ron Weasley knew, Draco was torturing Hermione while they patrolled the corridors alone. He was half right - Draco was doing something to Hermione, anyway, but it certainly wasn't torture.

Three weeks had gone by since Hermione had shown up to patrol looking like she might kill him if given the chance. He still didn't like thinking of that night, because it had been the night he'd done something he swore to himself he would never do. He let his guard down. When he'd made a crude comment about anger not looking pleasing on her face, she'd spat out that it was his fault anyway, and to hell with his opinions of her. It had shocked him, slightly, to hear this, since he'd proven to her that speaking out against him would bring punishment. Instead of thinking this way, he'd been intrigued. He couldn't remember doing anything other that the usual orders, so he couldn't think of what he'd done to make her so angry.

_This is all my fault, how?_

_You ruined everything. I love him, Malfoy! But I can't even touch him without my skin crawling._

_You're still not explaining how this is my fault. I haven't conditioned you against him or anything._

_Because you... you've done things that Ron can't. I would know, we've discussed this, the one time he tried I felt nothing. But somehow you can make me feel things. Somehow you make it... whatever it is. When Ron tries to touch me, to snog me, I feel nothing but uncomfortable! If it hadn't been for you, for this, I could have been content with decades of mild discomfort, as long as I got to spend it all with my best friend._

_I'm sorry I taught you what it's like to want something? What do you want me to say? I can control your body, but you've been the one to make it excessively clear that I don't control your mind. What you think of it, what you feel, that's in your head. That's on you, not me. You want this, I want this._

Tonight, three weeks later, she'd been the one to initiate something. After three weeks of mostly silent interactions brought on exclusively by himself, she'd been the one to start things. Women were complicated, he knew, but none more than the cursed Hermione Granger. She'd rounded a corner of the castle, pointing out a broom shed, and whispered one word. _In._ She was the cursed one. So why had he gone in without another thought?

She hadn't really made the first move, of course. She still waited for him to give her an order, eyes shut. And he did. But she'd been the one to open the damned door, and he'd step through it if that were her intentions. When he told her to step closer to him, and when he let his arms snake around her waist, pulling her tight against him, she stood on her toes to whisper in his ear.

 _Please._ He'd nearly came in his pants, again, at the sound of it. When she pulled away to look him in the eye and gauge his reaction, he knew she'd see that his eyes were wide with surprise. He certainly hadn't expected that, but if she was in a mood, he would take that too.

Forty minutes were spent shoved up against a wobbly pile of brooms, hands and mouths wandering with only moderate direction in the form of orders. He knew this wasn't a fantasy, she wasn't giving in and throwing herself at him. He could still sense her hesitation. But it was something new, for now, and that was enough. She needed to feel that way, and she'd come to him.

When they checked his watch - and found that they were five minutes behind schedule, and would therefore have to run to get to the meeting place on time - they put on whatever clothing had been peeled off, straightening themselves as they walked up the stairs into the castle. Neither spoke a word, but Hermione pointedly looked away from him for the entire trip upstairs. When they reached the top, and then the spot where Terry and Ron were waiting for them, Hermione carefully explained that they'd caught a student out of bed just a few moments ago and had been forced to walk him to McGonagall's office after Filch was nowhere to be found. In truth, they had found a student wandering earlier, but he'd simply been lost and it hadn't yet been time for curfew anyway.

For a moment - just one fleeting moment - Draco saw Ron's eye flit over to him, narrowed carefully. Were his pants unzipped? Had he put his sweater on inside out? But Ron simply shook his head, looking back towards Hermione, who stood on her toes to kiss his cheek before sauntering away towards the staircase, and Gryffindor tower.

Draco had left the scene feeling like he'd had a heart attack. What did he care if Weasley found out? If the whole school found out? Hermione still couldn't say a damned thing about the circumstances, he knew that. She hadn't yet found any loopholes, any secrets involved with the curse, though he was sure she'd already tried. If Draco himself hadn't been well versed in Dark Magic and in the curses that had been passed down generation through generation by his family alone, he would never have realized Hermione's condition at all. But Hermione had only been able to find out, perhaps, through a very old book that he knew would have been recovered from his family's mansion after the war, after everything had been torn apart and sold off. The largest parts of the contents of the library had gone to the Ministry, and if Hermione Granger asked, the Ministry would kiss her bum and give her whatever books she wanted.

Still, he knew that the tiny bit of information he knew about the curse wasn't enough to reverse it. She couldn't have more information than he did, so she couldn't have found a way out yet.

While he walked away, he checked his zipper and his sweater. Both were in place. His clothing was fine. The only thing Ron Weasley might possibly have noticed was the fact that Draco's lips were slightly pink and swollen, a result of forty minutes of his mouth traveling the planes and curves of Ron's own girlfriend.

He smirked, turning a corner. Saturdays were still awful, still felt like an inspection. But Saturdays were also still a third day out of the week that he could privately meet with Granger, with no chance to be discovered. It was only October. She was already bending to her own desires. November, he thought, would be very interesting indeed.

* * *

"You're revolting."

Even as she forced the words out with her own heaving breath, she knew she didn't mean it. It was clear by his reaction that he didn't believe it, either. Her hands were magically bound to the wall above her, and she was entirely naked. He too had removed all of his clothes, and stood before her, touching her only every few moments and not nearly enough to please her. The stone walls around them echoed every noise they made.

"Mhmm." He reached forward, brushing his thumb against her nipple, which stood hard against the cold of the room. Her knees nearly buckled under her. She'd been getting cheeky during their entire first hour of patrol that Monday, and he'd responded by drawing the next half hour into a torturous experience. He'd undressed her quickly, pulling his mouth away from hers only long enough to pull both layers off her head and unsnap her bra before capturing her mouth again. She'd gasped against him, pressing her nude hips into his.

What had become of her? Why did she want this so badly?

He'd been touching her everywhere except where she needed him most. Running his fingers over the flesh of her rear, lightly squeezing a breast or rolling the nipple through his fingers. He'd run his tongue slowly over both breasts for nearly thirty seconds total before pulling away.

This time when he stood back, eyes raking over her form, she gave in.

"Please... please Draco."

"What do you want?"

"Touch... touch me."

"I've been touching you, silly girl."

"You know what I mean. You know what I want."

He raised a brow, closing the distance between them and instantly sliding a finger down her slit. She nearly shouted with the pleasure from the contact, arching her hips up into his hand.

She'd figured, all those weeks ago, that if she were going to have to deal with this, she might as well learn from it. Her relationship had gone to the dogs. She no longer wanted Ron. But what Ron didn't know, for now, could only hurt _her_.

He slowly slid the pad of his finger over the round nub there, teasingly at first and then with a little more pressure. She moaned against his chest, where her head lay. When he slid his hand farther between her legs to push first one finger and then two into her opening, she felt as if she might fall apart. The stretch left her feeling wonderfully, comfortably full, but she imagined what it might be like if it were something other than his fingers in her...

That, still, would wait. But while he pumped his fingers in and out of her, her fluids coating his fingers and running down his hand, she thought that this was definitely enough for now. She pulled her hips down as much as she could, with her arms in place as they were, and pushed her hand against him, hinting to him that she wanted more. He reached up with his opposite hand, grasping her breast and rolling a nipple between his fingers. She stifled a cry, shoving her shoulders into the wall to better angle her hips. She'd never lost control like this before. She was an animal, she was unrecognizable.

As if he'd sensed her thoughts, Draco pulled back, holding his two moist fingers in the air. "I think we've finally done it."

"What, driven me barking mad?" But even then, she fought the grin as she said it.

"Made you lose control. Look at _this."_ He rubbed his two fingers against his thumb, and the fluid spread between his digits. He looked up at her, raking his eyes up and down her body once, twice. "I had a nasty sort of idea, where I just left you here. Bound. Naked."

Her eyes widened, panicked. "You wouldn't."

"No, I won't. Only because I have other ideas for you."

She pulled against the invisible restraints holding her hands high on the wall. She watched him step in closer again, his erection prodding her in the hip. She ached to know what that felt like, but could she really go that far with him? Would her conscience allow it? Her curse would, of course, but that was almost beside the point, now.

He wrapped one hand around his shaft, stroking gently as he aimed the head of his cock at her slit. She drew breath through clenched teeth, watching as he teased her clit with the smooth, soft skin.

"Granger, Granger... you don't have any idea. I want to. I think I'll wait, for both our sakes, but wouldn't it be nice to just..." He stepped closer, positioning himself at her entrance. Every nerve in her body was on fire, both terrified of the idea and excited. He could just press forward, and no matter how she felt about it her worries would be over, there would be nothing left for him to take from her. Though the idea disgusted her, she wanted it, in a way. Not for him to take her virginity, to fill a role that she thought would be only for Ron. But for him to just do the deed, so that their meetings wouldn't end in a muddled rush of finishes and restraint.

He moved his head against the opening, coating himself with her fluids. He pressed forward, just slightly, enough for his head to slip past her outer lips. She could feel the pressure of his head against her, and was a moment away from bucking forward and trying to make it happen. He pulled back, his cock glistening with her excitement.

"Not yet. Not quite yet. But you didn't pull away."

She didn't dare say a word. She turned away, mouth set in a line.

"Is that what you want, Granger? For me to slip inside you..." He raised her chin with his fingers, which were still wet. "To take you..." He moved his hand over his shaft, slick from her moisture, and pressed it against her. "Like that?"

"No."

"Really?" He smirked. "That's what it seemed like. Well, perhaps soon. We'll see. I'll test you again next time." He checked his watch. "We're out of time now."

She whipped her head around to him. "What time is it?"

"Eleven-fifty."

"Then we've still got ten minutes."

"To walk back in, yes. And for you to... help me out."

"And you won't help me out?"

He shook his head. "My rules, Granger." He reached into the pocket of his pants, which had been earlier discarded on the floor. One swish, and her hands were free. They didn't hurt, thankfully, but her fingertips were a little numb from the blood loss.

He stepped forward, his cock still in his hand. "Finish me."

She stepped in to meet him, her hip cocked to one side. She reached one hand forward, running it over the tip before wrapping her fingers around the base. Her hands were small, she'd always known that, but the fact that her fingers could not reach all the way around him was... interesting. He was thick. How would it work when he finally went all the way with it?

He arched his hips forward into her hand. He was already close, she could tell by the way he moved against her hand and how hard he was.

"Get... get on your knees. I want you to taste it."

"I've tasted it before." Still, her body lowered to the floor, her knees on stone. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, sliding him into her mouth. Head first, slipping against her tongue, then the shaft, until about half of him was insider her mouth. She looked up at him expectantly. Wouldn't he charm her to keep her from gagging?

"Just... stay at the top. Tight lips. Faster."

She did as she was told, sucking and running her tongue against the head and first four inches of him. Her lips were like a vice around him, and he thrust against her mouth. She gagged once, twice, as he pressed in too far, but he carried on. He reached forward, wrapping his hands in her curls, and tilted her head up to look at him. The eye contact was what did it, and he erupted into her mouth.

That same bitter, salty taste. He stayed mostly in the back of her mouth this time, which meant less taste but a heightened risk of choking on it. She gagged a little on the load in her throat before he tapped her on the shoulder, a signal to stand up.

"Now we're out of time."

Hermione felt the wet mess between her legs, and she ached. He wasn't going to finish her, and nights like this were the worst kind. She would rush through the common room, shut herself in her four poster with a silencing charm, and do the job herself. Each time she'd had to do that, it reminded her of the first night, of his first real command. To think about him while she touched herself. Well, he didn't have to tell her as much, anymore. She thought about his body constantly, and it caught her between desire and the desire to vomit.

When they dressed and left the room, Hermione refused to speak to him without an order. He had to know how frustrating that was for her, but he didn't say a word, only paused a moment more to straighten his shirt and tie. She left without another word, and he didn't stop her. As much as she hoped that was a little victory, a small part of her knew that it was less than nothing to him. What did he care if he upset her? He was getting exactly what he wanted from her, and she didn't do a damned thing about it. Yet.


	8. Chapter 8

One page. One, single page. In large font, to boot, and therefore much less information than she'd have if it had been printed in standard size.

_themselves come from very strict Latin forms, often with the spell correlating directly back to the meaning. As the use of wands and other magic artifacts came into wide practice, the development of spells hit a peak that lasted a decade, with both Dark and non-Dark wizards both vying to create the most powerful, the most useful spells. Though the practice of developing spells was highly illegal at the time and punishable by death, there was not yet a system in place to monitor spells cast or magic used worldwide. Hundreds of spells were created in a matter of ten years, with the origins and effects of some still remaining unknown. It is highly likely that these spells were passed down, generation to generation like a family heirloom to a trusted son or daughter. Though these spells may be considered by some to be a more rudimentary form of magic, there is plenty of evidence supporting the idea that these spells can do things that modern magic can not, or that modern magic will not allow. There have been tales of magic that can transform a human into any other human they'd like, temporarily or permanently, and tales of magic that can force a person to bend to the will of another. Most frightening of these rumors are those of the idea that some of these spells may never be reversed - the person affected may live with the effects of the spell or curse for the rest of their days. Though it is not true of all of such spells, and certainly not more than ten percent, this alarming permanence was enough to incite a task force focused on stopping the spread and creation of such spells, and on reversing those that were able. Among the irreversible spells are some that_

It wasn't much, but it was all she had, and all she'd had time to grab. She milled over what Draco said on the first night he'd confronted her.

_"There's a reason Pareo was outlawed. Erased from spellbooks. Kept in the utmost secrecy. Because the spellcaster isn't the one who controls you - it's everyone." He took a few steps towards her, his head tilted. "Anyone." He took the last steps towards her, stopping just inches from her. "Someone like me."_

Outlawed... that never stopped anyone. And of course, since whoever cast the spell on her was dead, there would be no way to punish him, to make him reverse it. Of course, it had never actually been in any spellbooks she'd seen. Possibly in darker tomes, those kept specifically in the Malfoy Mansion library. It had been a collection of books from that very residence, in fact, that she'd retrieved the solitary page she held in her hand, worn and creased in more places than she could count. The Ministry had brought the entire Malfoy library into the Ministry building after the Malfoy adults fled the country, and the Ministry had allowed the brightest minds of the times to sort through the material and do as much research as they pleased. Hermione had jumped on the chance, not because of the curse she'd been fighting to control and to hide, but for purely academic reasons. The last book she'd plucked from the piles had been so old she couldn't read a title. Half of the pages were missing, including the one before the one she'd torn out. As soon as she'd glanced over the content, she'd performed a sacrilege she never thought possible of herself - she stole away to an empty corner and tore the page from the book. The sound, unfortunately, alerted someone to her location, and before she could reveal what she'd been looking at or what she'd done, she'd tossed the book into the pile. It had been the final day that she would possibly be able to study the material - the next day she was due to return to the Burrow, and any delay would not be allowed by the Aurors that had followed her everywhere that summer.

One page. But, still, it was more than she'd known beforehand. Old magic, Latin-based. The word Pareo directly translated into the word Obey. It was the perfect dark spell - control, mental torture, servitude. Draco Malfoy could have killed her by now, forced her to hurt those she loved, but instead he'd used it for... fondling. Perhaps, then, he wasn't such a dark mastermind after all, and simply an adolescent boy with control issues.

Hermione sighed, folding the paper and adhering it to the bottom of her trunk once more. Someone could toss the entire contents of the room and not find this page, which was exactly how she liked it. The second someone found that page, they would start asking why she'd bothered to hide a page with such information. Ron himself had almost found the page once, a few days after she'd first gotten it, when it started peeking out of the back pocket of her jeans. He'd alerted her to the fact that 'something was sticking out of her bum pocket' and she'd hastily pretended it was nothing, sliding her palm over the paper to keep it hidden. Luckily he'd been too distracted by dinner to question her.

Ron... he was hardly happy with her, now. She hadn't broken up with him, but he seemed to do little but observe her lately. He'd intertwine their fingers when they sat beside each other in the common room, he'd still rest his hand on her thigh at mealtimes, but he hadn't tried to kiss her since. It had been two weeks. He'd taken to mentioning (to her, to Harry, to anyone close) that they were distancing themselves because Hermione was still healing from the war. If that was an answer he was okay with, then she'd stick to it.

In the mean time, she'd spent more than her usual amount of time in the library, specifically the Restricted Section. McGonagall had noticed a heated tension between Hermione and Draco, and had such removed one of their weeknight patrol shifts so that they might 'train the younger Prefects in how to actually fulfill their duties', which actually meant that she was giving them a reprieve and letting the younger students take the Monday night patrol. Hermione had been immediately relieved, and was surprised to see that Draco had no comment about it. Even the night of that prefect meeting, Draco hadn't said a word about it - and hardly a word to her. He'd touched her, he'd groaned against her, but when their time to end patrol came near, he'd simply left without speaking. She'd taken it as a good thing and now spent the afternoon tearing through the Restricted Section in hopes of finding something, anything about the old magic she knew so little about.

Two weeks had passed, and while they hadn't stolen away to any rooms, Hermione wasn't sure she could be upset about that fact. There had been three weeks of silence, one solitary week where she'd initiated things, and now more silence. This November was proving to be dreadfully cold, and though Hermione wrapped herself in as much clothing as humanly possible, she knew that when Draco saw her - or Ron, for that matter - they were thinking about her with a lot less clothing on.

With the paper now solidly hidden underneath her trunk, Hermione dressed for patrol for the night. Thursdays had been the worse over the last two weeks, dreadfully tense things in which, after five days of little to no speaking, the first hour or two passed in terse discomfort. The last hour might include small talk or cheeky comments by the male half of the team, but even that was scarce. Saturdays, at least, she could count down the time until they were due to hand patrol off to Ron and Terry Boot, at which time Hermione might walk with them a moment before returning to the library or to her dormitory and her bed.

She tucked her scarf securely into her coat, pulling it tightly around her neck. This was going to be another long three hours.

* * *

Thursday had passed without a word. Not a single one. He couldn't look at her half the time, couldn't think of anything to say. The idea that he wanted her disgusted him, but his desire for her did not wane. The curls, the slim limbs, the small peaks of her hipbones and the bounce of her breasts. When he looked at her, he remembered her removing her shirt, her bra for him. Of her own accord. That hadn't lasted long, of course, but even when he was giving the orders, he saw the look in her eyes. She was shy, but she wanted what was happening. She wore the matching underwear to prove it.

After she'd initiated things, he'd begun to feel seedlings of ideas growing in his mind. He wanted it. She wanted it. So why continue with the orders? Why continue to give her directions on what to do, how to do it? After two months, she certainly knew what he liked and how he liked it. On a night that she'd initiated things, she more than proved that. But the problem wasn't directing her to tighten her lips, to spread her legs so that he might put his hand between them. It was that he was in control, and he liked that. He knew that what they'd done so far, she was okay with. She had proved _that_ by going through each of his favorites in a rather spectacular display of manual and oral techniques. But he liked knowing that she couldn't say a word, that she wouldn't be doing any of this if he didn't order her to walk into a broom shed or empty practice room. It felt... naughty. It also felt very, very nice, but he saved such compliments for when her lips were wrapped around his member.

No, the problem was that he was starting to enjoy not the fact that there was a woman whose will would bend to his command, but the fact that it was _her._ Of course, it would be her. The girl he'd despised, the girl he'd tortured, annoyed. The girl who'd hit him so hard in the jaw that he'd bruised for a week and refused to accept the paste to erase it, out of spite. He'd been awful to her, and he was still awful to her, but he _liked_ that it was her. Not because he felt like he was sexually torturing her, but because it felt so right and yet so wrong to mash their faces together every chance they got, to tear at each other out of sheer desire regardless of their past.

He was hopeless. He was horrible. He was...

She was. She was with Ron Weasley, tucked into the alcove of a window in the corridor he now stood. She was giggling, a low joyous sound, and her hands were flat on Weasley's chest. He was leaning into her, her entire body flush against the stone wall behind her. She was _smiling._ She was _laughing._ And Weasley's hands were wandering up her sweater, over her flat stomach, curling over her hips, as he dotted her cheeks and nose with light kisses.

How _dare_ he touch her - or rather, how dare she let him? How could she like that, after what she'd told Draco himself? That she wasn't physically attracted to him? He quickened his pace until he was strides from her, and her eyes landed on him and widened only briefly before turning away. This only angered him further, and Draco closed the distance between them before snarling, opening seething in the direction of the youngest Weasley boy.

"Hate to interrupt what I'm sure was the most boring snog in the history of existence, but McGonagall has just asked that I find Granger and report back to her office immediately. She has something for us to do that is of urgency."

"It can wait, Malfoy. I'm busy..." She raised her brows, turning towards the ginger with her eyes already rolling. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"No, now. I insist that you remove your hands from this sorry excuse for a person and follow me immediately."

Hermione's hands slid down to her sides, her lips turned downwards. Even while she dragged her feet away from Ron, she looked at him, shrugging as if to say "duty calls". When she turned back towards Draco, however, he could see the irritation in her eyes - even a dampness that could only come from tears. He walked them around a corner, down a long expanse of corridor that he wasn't sure had existed previously, and into the first door that opened.

"Don't get all teary with me. That's revolting, what you were doing, and..."

She turned on him, eyes wide. "Revolting? Wanting to snog my own boyfriend is revolting? How dare you, Malfoy, you're..."

"What? What am I? I'll tell you what I am. I'm the one who gives the orders. I'm the one who says what goes and what doesn't. I know you haven't broken up with him, the whole castle would have heard about it by now. I don't care that you're still with him. But weren't you the one to say you weren't physically attracted to him? Unless he knows about your little spell and is using it to plant baby kisses on your nose - which I'm sure would be right up his alley - you're doing it to appease him."

"And I don't do everything between us to appease you?"

"Not when you grind yourself against my hand, you don't. I've never forced that. In fact, last I remember, I didn't force a damn thing for a week and a half. Didn't even have to tell you how to move your hand. You did it all by yourself, without a word from me."

"You're... you're sick. Revolting. He's not forcing me, it's not like we were fondling each other in the Great Hall. Nobody else has any idea. You said it yourself, you aren't exactly going to stride up to him and tell him I'm yours now, so why do you care?"

Anger, white-hot, flashed through him. His hands flew to her wrists and he shoved her up against the wall, his face buried in the hair around her ear.

"I don't have to tell _him_ you're mine for you to get it. I'm not going to snog you in a window bay either, but you had better remember, Granger, that _You. Are. Mine."_ He spat it out with all the malice he could muster. She could play pretend with the Weasel and hold his hand all she wanted, but needed to remember that Draco himself still had full control over her. He could force her to tell everyone her secret without revealing himself. He could oust her to everyone, he could make her do things, make her hurt people. He had an idea, he thought, that would destroy whatever feelings she had for Weasley while also frightening away one of her best friends. But he pulled away, and he looked at her, and he decided to save it for another time.

"It's a first offense. I won't take it lightly, but I won't punish you too strictly for it. No more snogging someone you're not attracted to. I don't care if you're still pretending to date him while simultaneously crying wolf about still being upset about the war. Everyone is. But you're to keep his hands off you. Are we clear?"

She nodded, eyes closed, and he released her at last.

"You can go."

She walked towards the door, and she only turned to look at him once, right before she closed it.

"I'm going to figure out how to stop this. I don't... I still... As much as I enjoy it, I hate you. That's what's tearing me apart and that's what'll drive me to find a fix. But you're only going to push me closer to him, to Harry, to everyone else if you try and pull me away. I'm going to fix this for me, but I'm also fixing this so that I can have my friends back. And honestly, this hot and cold, desire and ignore, is making me sick. You've done what you originally wanted, you made me lose control, to spiral away from the way I person I used to be just a few months ago... congratulations. But why is this still happening? The only consistency is inconsistency. Make up your mind on whether or not you want me, and stop toying with my head as well. You've already got control of my body, I won't permit you to destroy my mind any more than you already have."

The door shut with a click behind her, and Draco realized he'd been holding his breath the entire time she'd spoken. _Make up your mind._ Well, he'd already done that. He wanted her, exclusively his. He just wasn't sure what would come of that decision and the domino effect of actions that it would cause.

* * *

"You're staring again." Harry's wide eyes and raised brow screamed suspicion, and he moved closer to her on the large couch in front of the fire. It had been a long, empty Saturday with not a class in sight. The initial reaction to cancelling Saturday classes had been relief, but the entire student body was quickly realizing that it was too cold to venture outside, and so their new free time was severely limited. Hermione had spent most of the afternoon buried in tomes in the Restricted Section, and hadn't emerged until the sun had begun to set, just a while before the final meal of the day. When Harry had finally found her, frizzy and tired, he'd pulled her by the arm up to the Common Room without another word. She had found something, something that might make a bit of sense, but... the book was too new, the phraseology too droll to be dealing with something like Dark curses with no written history. Perhaps it was another dead end. Perhaps, she thought, it all really was hopeless. She'd never be able to snog Ron again (not that she found it particularly pleasing lately anyway).

She'd spent a few moments contemplating this on the couch whilst staring into the fire before Harry had really noticed. Now that he'd moved closer, his leg was flush against hers, his arm slipping around her shoulders.

"You've been... distant, Hermione. More than usual in school, and that's saying something."

"We're going to have to retake our NEWTs, Harry. I've been studying a lot. And what with Prefect duties, and extra patrols, and everything else... I have so little time."

"But it's not just that. I can... Hermione, you're my best friend. I can tell when something is bothering you. Don't think the last seven or so years have passed without me learning what you do when you're upset."

She couldn't tell him - Malfoy's orders prevented that. She wouldn't want to anyway, she couldn't imagine what Harry would say if he knew what she'd been doing, what had happened.

"It's nothing. Just school stress. And Ron... it's hard to be together, now. It's hard to be happy." That at least, was true.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I get what you mean. The war... it sucked the life out of most of us. But we're healing, I suppose. It'll take time. Are you and Ron still, you know, together?"

She sighed, leaning into him. "Oh, Harry, I don't know. I just don't... enjoy some of the things he wants to do. None of it excites me. It's like snogging a brother."

"You should tell him that, then."

"I did, but not like that. I told him I just wasn't ready for the level of affection he wanted. He understood, of course, but... I didn't tell him to what extent. I'm just afraid to hurt him. Again. After he left us in the forest..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I watch my words around him too. He's on guard a lot. But you've got to remember, Hermione, he lost a brother. He's a little paranoid and still mourning. I'm only saying this in both of your best interests, but hurting him and being honest now might be better than waiting and tearing open old wounds."

"I know. I know. I'll... I'll talk to him soon. I still love him, I always have, and that's why I'm so hesitant to let go. Maybe after this year, maybe after we've figured things out... then we can be together again. I want that. But there are things that... that prevent that, right now. And I should be honest with him."

Harry only nodded, and Hermione took the silence to mean the conversation was over for now. She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and let the glow of the fire relax her for several minutes. Though many people had walked through the common room in that time, she recognized one voice that sent an ache through her hips, and she opened her eyes just in time to see the blonde head climb the last of the stairs up to the dormitories. She hated that he was here. How convenient that she couldn't even have these few minutes alone with Harry to breathe.

* * *

"You know what I want you to say..."

"You'll have to order me to say it. And will it really mean as much then?"

"We'll see about that afterwards." He gave her another little shove against the wall, her cheek on smooth stone. He had pinned her like this, against the wall, as soon as he'd been able to dart into a corridor on their way back from Thursday patrol. Five days had been an excruciatingly long time, and he'd been itching to get his hands on her and to see how she felt about it. Instead, he found himself launching an inquisition into her snogging habits. "Say it."

"I am not physically attracted to Ron Weasley."

"Then why were you snogging him again in the hallway, hmm? Answer me."

"Because I was trying to be attracted to him. To feel something like I feel..."

She stopped short. She'd already answered his question, he knew that, and he knew exactly what that last statement would have meant if completed. _To feel something like I feel with you._ Well, then, it seemed he got his answer from her. She wanted this, as well. How much he could not tell, but he bet his own arse he wasn't going to admit the same to her.

It was a funny little game of cat and mouse, and what could ruin the game more than the mouse presenting itself to be consumed?

His hand slid down her waist, under her skirt to her bottom. He slid her panties aside, teasing her inner thighs with just his fingertips. She quivered beneath him, his body arched over hers, holding her to the wall.

"To feel something like this?"

His fingers slid over her opening once, twice, coaxing out a little fluid. She didn't answer his question, but this time he didn't need her to. He pressed the pads of his two fingers into her slit, running them forward until he found the little nub, deftly swiping over it once before retracting his hand. She let out a low breath of a cry, her eyes shut tight as she arched her hips backwards.

"To feel something like you feel with me? In secret? Under my command?"

She didn't nod, didn't answer again. Normally he'd have made a fuss about it, but his mind and his hand were currently preoccupied with her damp folds. He slid the tips of his two fingers inside her, curling them into her while he edged further inside. When he was in almost to his middle knuckles, he pulled out before pushing right back in, a little rougher than before. She cried out slightly, more of a mewling sound, and he began to work his hand in earnest.

"Honesty is the best policy, Granger. You've come to want this, desire this, and as long as you profess this feeling in some way or another and do as you're told, you'll be rewarded. Are we clear?" He stopped his hand mid-thrust, waiting for her answer. She nodded with vigor, her eyes fluttering open and shut for just a moment.

"Yes. Yes, we're clear. Please, Draco..."

He continued his ministrations until she became close to her peak, and then he stopped. He turned her around, her back against the wall, and kneeled in front of her, flipping her skirt up long enough to drag her panties down her pale, smooth legs to pool at her tiny feet.

"Spread your legs a little. Push your hips forward... yes, like that." She did as she was told, displaying herself to him fully. She took to shaving regularly, which pleased him, and tonight he would show his full appreciation for it.

"Oh, please don't, I..."

"What? You're scared?"

"Embarrassed. It seems... crude."

"Let me prove to you that it's worth whatever misgivings it is given. If you still don't like it at the end, we can switch." His trademark smirk made an appearance, then vanished as he lowered his mouth, first trailing his lips over her thighs, the mound of flesh, before coming to rest at the top of her slit. "You're going to like this, I guarantee it."

He darted his tongue into her folds, sliding downwards until her felt her hips tighten up as he slid the tip of his tongue over her most sensitive spot. His hands rose to the occasion, one hand flipping up her skirt while the fingers of his other hand gently pulled her lower lips apart to grant him better access. He lapped at her slowly, letting her get used to the sensation, before he felt her hands slide over his head, holding him there. He wanted to pull back, to tell her, _See? I told you..._ But her hands were grasping his head too tightly against her. He started an all-out assault on her feminine parts, teasingly suckling her outer lips before diving back to the center with with tongue, running it first vertically, then horizontally against her. When he moved his head side to side, he heard her let out a small moan as her hands gripped tighter into his hair. He continued in this manner, occasionally changing his technique, when he heard her moans rise in pitch in a threat to bring her to the brink. He stopped at once, pulling back to see her with an extremely frustrated expression.

"Is this how it's going to be? Going ninety-five percent there and then back off as punishment?"

"No, Granger, it's not. I only request that you join me in the revelry." He picked his wand out of his pocket, flicking it at a nearby table until it flattened on the ground, a plush padding covering the top. Just wide enough for one person, but the way he'd envisioned things, that's all that was needed. He pulled her hand, leading her to the makeshift area, and he laid flat against the padding. She certainly knew what was happening but the look on her face, but he was surprised in the fact that he'd only barely had to convince her to turn the opposite way, straddling his face and bending so that her own mouth came in line with a very eager member.

He'd been hard since he'd started teasing her and tasting her, but it wasn't until she reached down to release him from the prison of his pants that he realized how excited he'd been. He sprung up to full height, and he could feel her eyes taking in every inch.

"I forbid you to gag, by the way, just in case you were wondering. And this works a lot better if you actually lower yourself down and start this." He flipped her skirt up once more with his hands, eying the way her bum looked with it still on. He would just stick his head up her skirt, and she'd like it.

She did as she was told (and suggested to) and leaned forward, her pert arse tilting away from him to reveal her wet inner folds. He could see the glint of all that fluid, his saliva mixed with her arousal, and he lapped it up the moment he felt her lips on his cock. He was too close, too hard and excited, and he felt himself coming to the brink within just a few minutes. Though he could have spent entire nights like this, Granger straddling his face and grinding slightly against his mouth as she worked over him with her mouth, it was getting late. He increased his pressure, taking a few moments to slip his tongue inside her opening, which elicited quite a rousing cry. She took him entirely into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down while a rivulet of her saliva trailed down his shaft and to his balls.

He felt himself twitching inside her mouth all too soon, and knew he couldn't hold it much longer. With a flourish, he began eagerly sucking on her clit, running his tongue quickly over the small nub in his mouth until she moaned against his member. He gave a violent twitch up, thrusting himself deeply into her throat, as she ground against his mouth one last time. He felt himself shoot into her mouth as she twitched and dripped above him. Each of them spent a spare few moments lightly continuing, containing as much of the fluids as they could in a leisurely clean up. Hermione was first to move, rolling off him and pulling her skirt down around her, reaching for her panties. When she rolled back over, coming to a rest, her hand lazily drifted towards her hips, laying over the area he'd just personally tasted. She hadn't had much of a taste at all, in fact, and only the slight odor of her arousal, which had excited him so thoroughly.

"I told you you'd like that."

"Shut up, Malfoy. But yes, I did."

He grinned up at the ceiling. Things were about to get that much better for Draco Malfoy.


	9. Chapter 9

"We can fight all day if you'd like. I've got time." She sat perfectly still, knowing that whatever Ron was about to say, she fully deserved it and more. Not that he knew that, of course. Though September and October had passed, and November was waning out, whatever happened between herself and Malfoy had gone completely undiscovered. Not to say they hadn't almost been caught once or twice - a second year out of bed late one night on a dare almost caught them coming out of a closet looking entirely too mussed to have been 'talking', but rather than apprehend him and risk letting the boy put two and two together, they let him run off without even a warning. But despite Harry's constant barrage of questions about her well-being, Hermione knew that neither of her best friends suspected that anything that unusual was going on.

"Like hell you do. Every time I try to see you, you've got to run off to the library to study or worse, Malfoy is running up to find you for whatever secret Prefect duties you're doing. I hold your hand and that's fine, but within minutes you're pulling away to just... just leave!"

"It's our Eighth Year, Ron. Infinitely more complicated than our Sixth. If you hadn't noticed, we missed a year of schooling entirely and I'm still getting back into the way things go here as opposed to how they went in the forests, in the caves, in hiding. And yes, I'm extremely busy with Prefect duties because unlike yourself and Harry, I actually take the initiative to do as much as I can in my current position, even if that includes extra projects and time." She raised her chin, doing as best a job as she could to pretend to be the girl she once was. "You can't be angry with me for wanting to be the same person I've always been, Ron. Most of a year in a tent did not change my character enough to turn me into a slacker." She straightened, feeling both pleased with her composure and also with the fact that she'd been able to come up with a good enough sounding explanation to why she'd been disappearing with Malfoy, even in broad daylight. She'd have to speak with him about that.

A careful cough sounded from just to their side. Hermione whipped her head around to look at Harry, who had been pretending not to listen for the past few minutes. It had been impossible to continue, from a mere few feet away, and he sighed.

"Just shut up, the both of you. Ron, she's busy. Hermione has always been busy, going to the library and doing Prefect duties and hiding away elsewhere. And Hermione, a year in a tent may not have changed your character, but you and Ron weren't together sixth year, so things _have_ changed a bit. I think he just wants to spend time with you."

She rolled her eyes, sitting beside Harry on the couch while Ron sat in a squashy armchair directly across from them.

"But he wants to spend _all_ of our free time together. I have other obligations."

Ron grunted. "Like running off to skip and hold hands with Draco Malfoy every few days?"

"He's my patrol partner! That wasn't by choice, Ron, but if we're assigned extra duties and responsibilities I'm not going to turn them all down and abandon my post simply because I have to work with someone who, though incredibly annoying, also does his work just the same as you and I!"

She waited for Ron, who sat seething a mere few feet away, to respond. Instead, she watched his face fade to a deeper shade of crimson as his eyes darted up to the space above Hermione's head.

"Lighten up, Weasley. Your girlfriend and I have a little extra work to do. McGonagall's orders, of course. You can ask the Headmistress yourself, if you'd like. You know where the office is. We've been rerouting things, looking through old rulebooks and devising new punishments, and similar. I received a note from her just this morning, actually, and was going to mention it to Hermione now, but I think we can bypass that slight task to look instead into the punishments surrounding excessive noise and shouting in common rooms. What do you think, Weasley? Detentions? Lost House points? Lines? Bans from Quidditch? No puddings? Or might you be able to shut your mouth for a long enough period of time that the people you share a dormitory with might actually be able to hear themselves think for any extended period of time?"

Ron scowled, clamping his mouth shut and staying a strange shade of purple. Malfoy simply smirked, walking to the other side of the room flanked by Zabini and Smith. Hermione thanked her lucky stars that nothing worse had come from Malfoy's mouth, but when she saw the look on Harry's face, that all changed. He was looking at her in the strangest way, as if he couldn't quite tell if something was terribly wrong with her.

Ron then grumbled out something about changing before dinner, seeing as how he'd been actually doing his work for a few minutes before he'd decided to start an inquisition against Hermione. He stood, hands clenched into fists, before stomping off to the staircase to the boy's dormitories. Hermione watched until he disappeared, wishing she could fix what was happening between them. If Malfoy and his stupid knowledge of her curse hadn't gotten in the way, she'd have been able to sort out her feelings for Ron, to take time to find a physical facet to their relationship. She wouldn't have to be careful of every word she said around Ron and Harry.

Harry, of course, was simply staring at her, waiting for an explanation, a response, anything. His eyes were narrowed slightly, and she knew that he suspected that something was off. She knew that if he knew any more, or suspected anything greater, that he'd have said something much earlier.

Perfect, she thought. She wasn't just irritating and pushing away her boyfriend, she was alienating her best friend, as well. She sighed, leaning into him to rest her head on his shoulder.

"I'm just so busy, all the time. McGonagall does have myself and Malfoy doing more work than all of the other patrol groups, and on top of that I am going to take my NEWTs at the end of the year. I'm surprised that I don't spend one hundred percent of my time in the library, but between studying and prefect duties I do want time to spend with the two of you, even though it's usually spent finishing your essays and repeating lessons."

"You just don't want to snog Ron. That's what he's saying, anyway, that you want to still give it a try with him but you don't really try."

"I've told you, Harry. It just feels wrong sometimes. Like I should want to, but I just don't enjoy it. I've snogged other boys before, Harry, and it was infinitely different than snogging Ronald." An image of Draco's mouth pressed against hers, his tongue sliding against her own, came to the surface of her mind. She blushed, grateful for the fact that Harry wouldn't be able to see her face from this angle. She wished things could go back to normal, but something tugged at her brain that kept her grounded to the reality that was her life at the moment.

"I'm worried about you, is all. Ron says you've been acting strangely, and I see it too. You're not... you're not acting like yourself. You're darting around like you did in second year before the Basilisk, or in third when you had the time turner and were trying to keep that secret. I don't know if there's something else bothering you, but you know you can talk to me about anything, Hermione. You're my best friend and I care about you. I don't care if there's something between you and Ron, that's for the two of you to sort out, but... you're the one that's always been there. You never left, and I know you the best out of anyone here."

She could cry, if it wouldn't give her away. "I know, Harry. I know I can. But I've said my piece. That's all I have. I trust you."

"And I trust you. You can make the right decision, if you want to. End things with Ron. He'll be hurt, but he'll get over it, and at least the two of you can stop fighting all the time. Maybe it's just school. Things will be a lot different, once we're out of here. I bet Ron will want to stay at home for a while, but I'll want to get a flat for myself. You could be my flatmate, if you wanted. Somewhere close to the Ministry building, so I can start Auror training and you can start your climb to eventually end up as Minister for Magic."

She laughed lightly against his shoulder, musing lightly about their lives after school. About a time where she wouldn't be stuck in the castle with Draco Malfoy, the only one who knew her secret. She couldn't picture what her life would be like without her curse, without Draco and his orders. For the first time in her life, a tiny part of her cried out that it didn't matter, that what was happening was supposed to happen, but she quickly shook that away. Her life could go back to normal - or as normal as life was, around Harry.

"I don't know if I'll be Minister, but the rest sounds nice. I always sort of knew we'd stick together after school, anyway. It just makes sense."

"Of course it does." He nudged her shoulder, looking sideways at her. "We're best friends."

They sat like this for a long while, dreaming up a flat for themselves in London, their future careers, their lives, and for a moment Hermione was able to forget about her curse, her fight with Ron, and the fact that she had patrol that very night.

Then, she heard Malfoy from across the room, and the single blissful moment of peace she'd had since the beginning of the year shattered under the weight of his words.

"Granger, if you're done cuddling up to Potter on the couch, it's time to go. Get up. We've got work to do before dinner."

Damn.

* * *

What was it with her, anyway? He had complete control over her. He could make her do anything he wanted. And yet... she still had this control over the situation, her own drive to push back, to fight his influences. Feisty didn't even begin to cover it, she was a nightmare, always had been. The only difference now was that she was a nightmare with a perfect body that he could control with the shortest of commands.

She'd stomped off after him, but only after fully telling him off in the middle of the common room for being a royal pain. The entire room had hushed, and then spilled over in a swell of chuckles and exclamations. Granger telling him off like that was not part of the plan. She was a nuisance. Her boyfriend was a nuisance. And what was with her tendency to cuddle up to Potter, anyway? She seemed more affectionate with Harry than she did with Ron, which was troubling to Draco for no other reason than the fact that he thought that despite his control, he might still be getting played by Hermione's wit. Was there something between Hermione and Harry? Was that why she'd had a hard time snogging Ron, because she'd been on the side messing around with his best friend?

He said nothing as she followed him out of the common room, down three sets of stairs, and out to the most remote classroom he could think of. Once inside, he tried speaking twice before any coherent thoughts came to mind. When he finally spat the words out, he knew how ridiculous they sounded.

"Are you fucking around with Potter?"

As soon as he saw her face, he knew the truth. He'd assumed something far greater than he should have. He'd known, since the beginning, that Hermione was severely under-experienced. How could she have been messing around with Potter this entire time if she hadn't even been comfortable with anything physical before this year?

"How dare you! Harry is my best friend, you idiot! Nothing more. You've known, always known, that I've never done anything like this before with anyone, and certainly not Harry."

He shook his head, leaning against the wall. It had been blind rage that had forced the words from his mouth, but how could he say that to her without her thinking that he was unveiling a green-eyed monster that took the form of her best friend? Jealousy was far from why he asked it - at least, that's what he thought - but then what other reason was there for him caring so much about her physical proximity to Potter, to Weasley, to anyone? Hell, he'd gotten jumpy when he'd seen her talking to the She-Weasel at dinner a few nights prior. And unless Hermione had any curiosities that hadn't yet been discovered, Draco was sure he'd just been barking up a few odd trees. Or barking mad. Both.

"I... forgive me, it was only in a split second's frustration that I even thought you'd go for a scrawny idiot like Potter."

She huffed, throwing her head back once at his response. It was better than her earlier response, at least. She wasn't on the verge of killing him.

"You're such an idiot, Malfoy. What I do outside of your command is none of your business."

"It is my business, actually, given the fact that my command can extend to whatever reaches I'd like it to. To Potter, to your dorm mates, to anyone. If you ever forget that you're mine, that your decisions are mine, I can remind you."

There was a full silence that spanned, oh, who knew how long? Neither would speak. Neither had anything to say. Draco knew that they had reached a stalemate in their current arrangement. He could order her into a room, and depending on her mood she would either go willingly or curse his name on the way in and the way out. She would either enjoy his actions or be repulsed by them and by himself, and he had no control over how she felt, only how she moved against him.

Finally she rolled her eyes, turning towards him. "Any other reason you've dragged me out of my leisure time? Dinner is in a few minutes and I'd like to change. We have patrol tonight anyway, you could have accosted me then. I'm sure you will anyway."

He quickly realized there had been no reason at all. They were, as she said, mere minutes from dinner, and shortly after patrol would begin. He'd been thinking about it while standing around with his dorm mates, even, but the second he'd turned and seen her body fluidly pressed into Potter's side, he'd snapped.

Jealousy, he was realizing, was not so ridiculous after all.

"Just go, Granger. This never happened. I'll see you for patrol tonight." He turned into a corner, waiting to hear the snap of the door announce that she had left. But a few moments passed before it did, and he wondered what she was looking at or thinking beforehand.

* * *

Patrol that night had ended up being - well, less of Draco accosting her, and more of Draco grumbling about things and generally avoiding the topic of what had happened that afternoon.

It hadn't taken her long to figure it out, really. He'd been _jealous._ Draco Malfoy, jealous of Harry Potter because he thought he might be messing around with Hermione. When the word, that dirty word _jealousy_ finally popped into her head, she'd nearly laughed. It sounded just about as ridiculous as it was, though of course it was probably the truth. _You are mine._ Yes, well, when under a curse she supposed she had no other option. She did what he said because her body forced her to. She had begun to enjoy it because, well, her body forced her to. But the fact remained that he did not control her mind, and it had driven him mad to think that she wanted Harry more than she wanted him - a prospect which, anyway, was absurd. If he wanted to be angry about Ron, he might have some reason - she technically was still his girlfriend - but the fact remained that she wasn't physically attracted to Ron, either.

She only had eyes for Ron, and yet only had want for Draco. It was sick, she knew, but she couldn't control how she felt. Worst of all was the realization that he'd been making gradual changes over the past few months - he'd gone from intimidating and frightening, to teasing and giving. He'd gone down on her - she blushed at the breakfast table - and then had only had to ask her to join to finish them both. He'd stopped torturing her, stopped refusing her orgasm. He'd been jealous of Potter.

She knew he wasn't in love with her, but he'd sure loved the way she said his name.

A few days had passed in moderate silence, neither of them broaching the topic. The same silence resonated through her conversations with Harry and Ron - neither wanting to have a conversation more serious than what they might do over Christmas break. They thought about plenty of days spent with plenty of food at The Burrow, time with the Weasleys, perhaps a few walks through snow and icy trees. Hermione wanted to go into the city, thinking that they could perhaps go for a few days, just the three of them, and that it might be good for them all. Harry did say he wanted to look for a flat, anyway, and it wouldn't be bad to figure out which neighborhoods he could afford and which they liked best. Perhaps they could talk Ron into living with them and...

And it was still so strange, to think about what might happen after the end of the year. It was as if she'd lived two entirely different lives by now - firstly the young girl following Ron and Harry around, finishing their essays and teaching them what she could. Fighting in the war. Learning more about herself than ever. Then there was this year... the summer after the war, the last few months with Draco. She felt entirely different than she had before, which she knew was to be expected, but she still had a hard time looking past June and into the rest of her life. What would it be like to live without this curse? Without Prefect duty and these mixed feelings - the highest of highs and the lowest of lows?

She shook her head over her breakfast, tossing aside the issue of the Daily Prophet that she hadn't really been reading. She hadn't slept well the night before. Harry and Ron were deep in conversation about Quidditch, and Hermione found herself looking across the room to the Slytherin table. Her eyes swept the benches, looking for the familiar shock of platinum hair, but she didn't see him. It was only moments later, when she heard the cough behind her, that she realized that there were only a few other places he could be - still in bed, in the Hospital Wing, or seeking her out.

"Granger."

"Malfoy?" She turned around to face him, face carefully set in a look of mild annoyance.

"I know it's early... classes are starting soon. But McGonagall has something she'd like for us to do before class today."

"Is it really necessary to do before class? I've got to go back up to my dormitory..."

"It is, she insists. She said we could have a pass on the first day's lessons if need be, but it really needs to be done today."

Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag. "Fine. If _McGonagall_ says we must, let's go."

Harry and Ron looked at her inquisitively, and she simply rolled her eyes. "No idea."

She followed him out of the Great Hall, to the stairs, and up all the way to the Seventh Floor.

"Where are we going?" She struggled to keep up with him as he walked - his long legs made his gait seriously longer than hers.

"To the Headmistress's office. I wasn't lying."

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it again. She'd been sure that he'd been luring her away from breakfast for a more... carnal reason. "Oh."

"She's got papers up there, she said I could grab them off her desk. It's the edited list of new routes and punishments. She made a few changes. She wants us to post them in the common rooms, the Great Hall, elsewhere. It could take a while..."

"Only if we did it without magic. I'm assuming you were forgetting magic."

He stopped outside the gargoyle statue, brows raised. "I guess she and I both did. She told me we'd have to walk around to them all."

Hermione rolled her eyes, giving what she knew to be the current password and stepping up the staircase quickly. "I'll get them, you wait here. We can send them out magically and be on our way."

However, when Hermione returned, stating the charm to send the stack of parchment to the appropriate places in Hogwarts, nothing happened. After two more tries, she groaned.

"She'll have charmed them so that we can't use magic on them - likely to keep them from getting defaced or pranked. But it also keeps us from sending them out. We'll really have to walk everywhere."

Draco simply nodded, following her on her route. She turned once or twice to make sure he was still there, he was so quiet. But he remained a step or two behind her for some time before she stopped, noticing a very peculiar difference in how she felt when she walked. She whirled around to face him, the stack half gone.

"Have you been messing with my skirt?"

In reply he simply grinned, slipping his wand back into his sleeve. "Why, does it feel a little breezier under there?"

"You've been shortening my skirt while we walk! That's why you've been walking behind me, I thought it was unusual."

"I do not mind watching you walk. That's the truth. A skirt short enough to show a peek at your rear is a definite improvement. You should keep it this short all the time, Granger. You'd definitely have more friends this way..."

She slid her own wand out, watching her skirt lengthen another two or three inches before she deemed it satisfactory. "There. Shorter, but my bum isn't hanging out. Happy?"

"Deliriously."

She could slap him, if she wasn't oddly flattered by the whole thing. He just liked watching her skirt swing, and certainly wasn't embarrassed about it. Perhaps this was his way of smoothing over the catastrophe from the week before. She hoped so...

When the last of the notices had been tacked up in the appropriate places, the first lesson of the day had come and gone, and the second was nearly halfway through. A small paper bird of a memo had joined up with them on the third floor outside a busy classroom. The Headmistress only wanted to tell them to take their time to finish the work, that they would also be excused from their second classes of the day if needed.

"Still have a while before the second class ends..." Draco said this without looking at her.

"Indeed we do. Perhaps I'll return to my dormitory, then. I've got work to catch up. Maybe I'll try and find some coffee in the Great Hall, I didn't get to finish mine this morning and I'm awfully exhausted."

"Nonsense. Come with me."

She felt her legs betray her, dragging her along behind him. She could have used the caffeine, but if he was in a better mood, she was in no place to disagree with him.

It another abandoned classroom, he locked the door behind them, pulled a small curtain over the tiny window in the wooden door, and then turned towards her.

"Right. We've got some time before the next class, and you thwarted my skirt plan."

"Anyone could have been out of class and seen. How would that have looked?"

"Like I'm a pervert, for one, and like you're oblivious."

"And only the first one would have been true."

"Though you did remain oblivious for quite some time. I'd been working on it for nearly an hour."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But not in public. If anyone saw anything, you know this would not go well."

"I'm well aware, Granger. But since you ruined my fun earlier, I insist you treat me. Walk over to that desk over there." He pointed to one in the middle of the classroom. She stepped towards it, facing it, and heard him walk up behind her.

"Good, now... I want you to slowly, slowly pull your panties down. Leave them around your ankles, if possible. Go on."

She bent at the waist, dragging the material down her hips, her legs, and letting the lacy pair rest around her ankles. She felt her skirt shift again - he'd shortened it, naturally, so that her bum was just peeking out the bottom. She could see a bulge rising in his pants, and his hand drifted to it.

"Yes. Interesting. What shall we do next... oh! Just the idea. I want you to unbutton your shirt, and remove it and your bra."

She deftly unbuttoned her blouse, tossing it on the next desk and unclasping her bra before tossing it the same way. She was now clad only in her school skirt, with her panties around her ankles, and her shoes. Draco stepped in closer, placing one hand on her waist. With the other, he flicked open his belt and the button on his trousers.

"Bend over the table, hands over your head."

She felt herself bending at the waist, gasping slightly when the cool surface of the desk came in contact with her breasts. She watched Draco walk to the side of the table, looking at her from the side. His trousers had fallen slightly, and he pushed them down with one hand while he wrapped the other around his cock. Her fingers curled around the opposite side of the desk, which remained cold, eliciting a response from her nipples. The same response caused a wet sensation between her legs. She gritted her teeth - the table was freezing, the air was that of a cold winter, but he just watched her, naked, while pulling at himself slowly.

"Perfect. I could just... but I won't." She watched him drop himself only long enough to slip off his sweater and shirt. "See, Granger, there are many things I could do to you right now. Many, many things I'd enjoy doing. But my goal here is not for you to hate me, it's to completely undo you, from the base up. I've already won you over on one thing you weren't sure about doing - and your grinding against my face proved that quite well - but I always wonder how you'd respond if..." He walked back behind her, letting the shaft of his cock go, and it slapped down onto her rear. She started, her head arching up, but she was altogether surprised again when he picked it up, bent his knees slightly, and pressed the head between her moist lips, dampening it while he slid over her opening "...If I just pushed right in." He made a motion like he might, pushing his hips forward until just the very tip of his cock slid into her opening. She cried out, partially from fear and partially from desire. She couldn't tell the difference anymore half the time, it all felt just as rich.

"I see... you aren't sure... well, that doesn't change the fact that you want to. That you want this." He slid himself through her lips once more, this time spreading her legs quickly with his hand and pressing his head through her wet lips, forward, until he felt the nub of nerve endings meet the smooth skin of his head.

She writhed on the table, breasts pressed hard against the surface. She wanted to. She did. But...

"Oh, I think I've got it. You want me to wait, is that it?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't speak. She was torn between trying to protect her innocence, and pushing her hips backward so that he might finally enter her.

"You want it for a Christmas present. Is that it? Have you been waiting, like a good little girl, for Draco to give you his gift?"

She arched against the table as his head slipped through her lips again, positioned at her opening. When she found herself unable to move enough to grind against him, she made a decision - to hell with it. If she'd wanted to move, only to not be able to, she knew what she wanted.

"Yes."

She felt his cock twitch at her opening, from excitement or from startling Draco, she couldn't tell. Though startle him she did - she heard him let out a shaky breath while he slid his cock up and down, from between her soft lips, up to her opening, and even slightly past that, to an area Hermione wasn't entirely sure she wanted to explore.

"Well, Granger. Ask and you shall receive. Though of course, I wouldn't want to be late with your gift, so there are really only two options - I can give it to you over break, if you can arrange to sneak out and meet me, or I can give it to you before break, while we are still in this castle. I think that's a nice touch, don't you?"

"Y-yes... before." She moved her hips ever so slightly, inciting more movements from him. In an instant, his cock was gone, and she turned around to see where he'd gone just in time to feel his fingertips toying around at her entrance.

She knew what it meant - before break. It was practically already December, and the train would be leaving for those who wished to leave in less than three weeks. Before she had time to dwell on that fact, he thrust his fingers into her, sliding them in and out before taking them out, slipping them over her most sensitive spot, only to pull them back and dive into her again and again. She felt his erection hard against her bottom, and for a while she ached for it, wished that break would come sooner so that she could finally experience this. Instead she felt his other hand raise to meet himself, and she felt his knuckles bump against her while he stroked himself in time with his fingers inside her. Once or twice he lost his rhythm, and had to start again, and it only prolonged her peak.

Just before she found herself on the edge, he pulled away, ordering her to flip over on the table onto her back, with her head over the side. He slid her skirt off her hips, down her legs. He walked over to her head drooped off the edge, and ran the head of his cock around her lips.

"Open wide, Granger. You can't have your present yet, but I'll give you a little taste..."

Her mouth opened to accommodate him, and she felt his length glide over her tongue. He muttered that he forbid her to gag, again, just before pressing into the back of her throat. His entire length slid into her mouth, and she ran her hand between her legs, to pleasure herself if he would not do it...

But his hand covered hers. "Ah, ah... I have another special sort of treat. Consider it my thank you for allowing us both to set a date to finally see this through. Place your hands under your hips." He reached for his wand on the desk behind him, never leaving her mouth. Wordlessly, so that she could not hear what he had used, he flicked his wand in the direction of her hips.

It was instantaneous, and unlike anything she'd ever felt before. A pleasant humming feeling - less intense than what she'd heard about vibrators and the like. It seemed to be coming from the least sensitive places, with the warm humming feeling radiating out to the places she knew would bring her over the edge. She felt the sensation grow slightly stronger as each minute passed, while Draco held her head, sliding himself into her throat, then out of her mouth entirely, letting his saliva-covered shaft slip across her face. She knew that would be a mess to clean up, but she could handle it. And whatever he'd just cast on her more than made up for it. It seemed to be pulsating softly, never staying the same for too long, pleasuring her and yet prolonging her eventual explosion. While he thrust into her mouth, she felt her breasts bounce, undulating upwards and downwards under his gaze. Her nipples were almost painfully hard from the cold of the room.

Draco kept a grip on his wand, though he wove his fingers through her hair as he slid himself in waves over her tongue. When she pursed her lips over him, she thought the pressure might finish him while he gasped for breath, uttering her name in a low moan. After several minutes that were simply not long enough, she felt him grow that slightest bit harder, and as she prepared herself for the first spurt to shoot into her mouth...

He pulled out, allowing his semen to jet out over her naked body. She felt the warm liquid smack against her flat stomach, against her breasts, which were just stopping movement, and all the way down to her hips, landing just shy of her lower lips. She wondered if he would let her finish, she felt so close already, but before she had time to look at him or ask, he had flicked his wand again and the pulsing turned into a heavy shake of a movement. The change in pace did indeed, finally, finish her off. She cried out as her hips bucked upward against the sensation of the spell, drawing out her orgasm, shaking her to the core. It seemed she was in this state for ages, before she sensed Draco lifting his wand, lazily waving it, and ending whatever enchantment he'd placed between her legs.

She gasped for breath, letting her lungs fill properly before moving herself from the desk. She sat up slightly, rolling off the side, and simply stared at him a moment, her mind not quite normal again.

"Did you enjoy that, bookworm?"

She hesitated before nodding sheepishly, reaching down for her clothes. She found her wand, used a cleaning spell to remove his seed from her skin, and dressed quickly.

"It's almost... almost time for the third lessons. Time to go."

He smirked at her, calmly buckling his trousers and belt, sliding his shirt and sweater back on. "It is indeed... it is a sad thing, though, that you can use a simple cleaning spell to wipe away any evidence of this morning." He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before turning on his heel, heading for the door. "I would have liked for you to have had to walk around, all day, with the sticky mess that just happened, left on your breasts."

He left her, still panting, half dressed, in an abandoned classroom on the third floor. Her head was spinning. What had she just agreed to? What spell had he just used on her? And, she felt her cheeks flush at the thought, might he do it again, soon?


End file.
